


Green Light

by sansaboleyn



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: (other relationships are minor or secondary), Arianne Martell/Margaery Tyrell - Freeform, Drama & Romance, F/F, F/M, Minor Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Post-Canon, Romance, Some Jon Snow/Wynafryd Manderly, Some Plot, after the Long Night and everything, also bc i'm a hardcore sansa/aegon shipper, enjoy this mess lmao, it's post-asoiaf, spring has come yeeaaah, this is basically my tribute to Sansa as she is my queen, yes Jon still knows nothing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-06-28 00:38:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15696621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansaboleyn/pseuds/sansaboleyn
Summary: " My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel."After the War and the Long Night, Sansa Stark has become the Lady of Winterfell and is rebuilding her home, her pride and constructing her power. Yet, a visit from the newly crowned queen, Daenerys Targaryen, and of her nephew, Prince Aegon, is going to propel her in places she'd thought she would never be in.





	1. Sansa I

**Sansa I**

 

_Shahmaran - Sevdaliza_

 

Snow was falling upon the plain moors, hills and barren strips punctuated by discrete forests that grew deep once one ventured inside. Leaves, reminder of summer, were now crumpled, brown and cauterized by snow, while ice, like a hardened recipient, blurred the glimmers of ponds, and prevented the grass to bloom. Nevertheless, this land was ancient, almost otherworldly and calm, humble, plain, without any shiftings and evasions, yet it let the human mind wandering into its own pond of thoughts that this time ice could not blur.

The lady Sansa Stark had never realised how much her homeland reminded her of herself until now, after all these years imprisoned in a bloody castle painted by cruel smiles and flowing taffeta, in a white, lunar castle hardened by years of sorrow and blankness, where her fiery, red hair had become dark and shallow, like the name she wore; Alayne Stone. She thought about the man that all along had known where the flow of life was going, yet seemed to be completely estranged from it. Petyr Baelish had loved her as his redemption, the quest for something he had lost, and despite the mystery shrouding him, he was not a man keen on losing. In this world, no one was. Petyr Baelish had used her, in a more complacent way than the Queen Mother had, as her lion cub, this bauble prince born in lust and desperation, had reduced her to a broken, traitorous they said, mind, a pale, beaten body, courtesy and smiles for only armour.

When the Targaryens had come to Westeros, Queen Daenerys riding Drogon, Prince Aegon riding Rhaegal, Sansa Stark, from the Eyrie, had known revolution was on its way. She had known that the Targaryens would be unforgivable to anyone who had plotted with the Lannisters. Lucky for her, she had only been a pawn, only been a girl-child of three-and-ten when she had been betrothed to Joffrey, only been an adolescent of five-and-ten when she had been wed to Tyrion Lannister and smuggled out by Petyr, almost enraptured by him until she had realised what she meant for these players all along. Now, she knew her father had been too good for these murky, haughty people, blinded by his own beliefs, refusing to acknowledge the need for dishonesty and cunning, of turning your back on someone that would make you lose. She did not blame him. It had taken years for Sansa to realise it herself, and even more time to learn, from the best, how to use shadow and light. Now, they bent at her will; they bowed at her sight.

She had reclaimed her homeland, the North, for herself, with the precious aid of her half-brother Jon Snow, Lord Commander of the Wall. She knew that she would have to swear fealty to the new Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and that she would have to give up any idea of queenship over the North, a dream her elder brother Robb had sailed onto, all these seasons ago. Now, he was a dead corpse, an idealistic memory of what might have been if he had not married that stupid girl, Jeyne Westerling. Her mother, the lady Catelyn Stark, would have still been alive as well. She did not blame him. It had taken her father’s death and the sufferings that followed for her to realise that you could never truly rely on love.

 

She traced back her steps, as she made her way to the Godswood. The only thing she could hear was the howling wind, gently patting her cheeks like her father used to do when she showed him her needlework. Her heart clenched, and her pale, willowy hand trembled, as if her blood became her invisible tears, threatening to spill in her veins at any moment. The woods were a constant reminder of the loss of her mother, her father and of Robb, yet it was also a place where she had found out that Rickon was alive, protected by a loyal member of the Stark household during his stay on Skagos, or when Jon had rode south to meet her with Bran, whom she thought lost forever. The godswood was also the only place where she could let her soul roam free and inhabit all of her physical being, the trees, the snow, the wolves and the gods the only witnesses to her outbursts of anger directed to herself or grief.

Yet, if an outsider saw Sansa Stark kneeling in front of the weirwood tree, the heart of Winterfell’s folklore, he would have never guessed the hardships she had faced, her icy beauty blurring any trace of pain. Her long, fire-kissed hair was intricately attached to her head in a northern style, all braids and circles, while she was dressed in a very warm grey dress, embroidered with wolves, white arabesques and little drops of sapphire, while a white cape made of white fox fur kept her warmer and gave her the appearance of a winter queen, which she was. Her crystal blue eyes contrasted with the immaculate whiteness surrounding her, as prisms of oceanic lilac entangled themselves with grey hues of blue.

 

 _Old gods, gods of Winterfell, I have come today to lay down my grief_ , thought Sansa in her mind, her gloved hands aligned in front of her delicate chin. _I grieve for what has happened to my family, in spite of the time that has passed. Time does not heal grief, as it is ourselves who become accustomed to it. Yet, I pray that you will give me the strength to be a just and acute ruler of Winterfell and of the North; I know that I will be that kind of ruler only if I give myself the means to, but godly-sent strength throughout it all is what I pray for._

 

She rose, brushing the snow adorning her hair like a crown as it had started to fall, looking in the eye the bloody face of the weirwood tree one last time before turning her back. Winter still occupied the North, while spring had started to bloom in the Southern part of Westeros, as her good friend Margaery Tyrell had told her in a letter from Highgarden. She missed the young, doe-eyed Tyrell lady, who had been her only friend at some time during her captivity in King’s Landing. The Crownlands were a place Sansa would never set foot in ever again, despite that Daenerys and her nephew Aegon occupied the Red Keep now, currently under reconstruction after the lethal attack of the White Walkers. All of that happened only twelve moons ago.

Sansa walked at a rapid pace out of the godswood, and reached Winterfell a short time after. Pacing in the courtyard, smiling swiftly at the different squires, bakers, cooks, knights, handmaidens occupied to different tasks, interrupting themselves to bow to their Lady of Winterfell, she climbed up the stairs that led to the upper part of the castle, where she and the rest of her family had their rooms and everything else. Maester Felir, the new one that had been sent by the Citadel and that was a northerner by tradition, was justly pacing down the hallway Sansa was in.

 

“ My Lady, I have been looking for you, stated gently the man. Several letters have arrived by raven, and I have ordered Jeyne to leave them in your solar.

\- Thank you, replied curtly Sansa.

\- Might I add that one of them was from the Queen.

\- Very well, Maester Felir ”, answered the lady with authority.

 

The man, recognizing a dismissal, went past her and continued on his way, probably to his office. Sansa sighed. She had not meant to sound so icy with the man, as she was very grateful for all of his services to her people, who were considerably weakened by the harsh winter that was finally coming to an end. In less than six moons, the grass and the trees will lose their white collar, and that were the previsions Maester Felir had made. These days, Sansa would often blame herself for her cold behaviour towards all people that were not Bran or Rickon, but she could not help to do so. She had that desperate need to assert her authority, but she did not want to be seen as a tyrant or as an unapproachable person.

 _Stop exaggerating everything_ , thought Sansa. _You’re already the lady of Winterfell and the Warden of the North, despite the fact that the queen has not come yet to appoint you._

The irrational part of her still feared that Daenerys Targaryen would dismiss her and would appoint Bran instead, who had never been fit for being a leader of men. Paradoxically, Sansa knew the Queen could not do such a thing, because the latter, being a woman and sitting on the Iron Throne, would weaken her rule by invalidating Sansa’s. In addition, the Lady of Winterfell still wanted to let Bran and Rickon have a beacon of childhood, of freedom and wandering before they would fulfil their duty.

 

Sansa entered her rooms, reassuringly empty. They had been her parents’ marital rooms, but she had decided that she would choose them over her childhood ones to further state her rule on the castle. She also had changed the decoration to her taste, and now it looked warm and spacious. The Stark walked past her bedroom and into her solar, that had through its considerate large windows a magnificent view on the snowy forests, hills and moors of the North. Sansa had also installed a large library in it, because she had taken an interest into reading as many books as she could, to sharpen her mind already trained through experience. Then, she sat on her wooden, neat desk to read the letters that had been put there by her handmaiden Jeyne. There was one from the Queen, her seal with the three-headed Targaryen dragon making it clear, one from Highgarden, surely from Margaery, and another one from Lord Umber, an important bannerman of House Stark. Sansa guessed it was on the question of the inheritance of the Dreadfort, House Bolton having been wiped out by Sansa and her bannermen.

She chose to open the Queen’s letter first. Her eyes trailing rapidly over the formalities that were conventional, she read :

 

“ _If you, my lady, would welcome my person, my nephew Prince Aegon Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne, and the royal party that follows into your noble castle Winterfell, in order to enjoy our stay in this region that you ward at my service, we would be most thankful. Of course, the reason for this visit is to appoint you officially as Warden of the North and as the Lady of Winterfell, as it is your rightful heritage. Let me notify you, lady Sansa, that Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion will be accompanying us, as they need to keep us warm in the cold, sheer winter that shrouds the North still. I duly hope you will develop a space for them, as while they are tamed and will not damage the land, they would be quite a distraction if they resided too near Winterfell. Lastly, we will be arriving in less than two moons._ ”

 

Sansa gasped as she held the letter in her hand. Often, the saying dark wings bring dark words was revealing itself to be true, but in this moment, the lady Stark was very content that Queen Daenerys was finally travelling to Winterfell to establish Sansa as its rightful ruler in front of all her bannermen, and word would spread in all the seven kingdoms. It also meant that there was finally going to be some agitation and excitement in this calm land, as the Stark woman doubted the Targaryens would stay only one or two weeks. Weaving relations with the Lords and Ladies Paramount of the seven kingdoms was vitally important for a newly installed monarch.

She already knew that Willas Tyrell had been named Lord Paramount of the Reach and Lord of Highgarden, as his father, Mace Tyrell, had been slain during a battle with White Walkers like plenty of lords and sons of lords. Yet, Sansa did not worry about Willas, as Margaery had told her that the Tyrell family was a united front and that her eldest brother was much more sharp-minded than his own oaf of a father had been. In the Riverlands, Sansa had been satisfied to hear that the closest in blood to House Tully, the young lord Blackwood, had been appointed as Lord of Riverrun and Liege Lord of the Riverlands, a new title created by the Queen to consolidate the unity in this area that had been deeply troubled even before winter had ravaged the country there, already mined by wars and petty litigations between lesser houses. Yet, Sansa, having been accustomed to the game of thrones now, knew that the Riverlands were an exception, as uniting more regions under one banner would have weakened Daenerys’ own power ; whatever peace she brought to Westeros, a cunning ruler always relied on the discords within the hierarchy, who ruled regions of his kingdom.

 

Sansa twirled a strand of fire, sliding like ivy on her index, a charming, delicate hand hanging loosely.

 

She thought about the Queen’s nephew, Aegon. Margaery, through letter writing, had told her that he possessed the typical yet otherworldly valyrian beauty; silver, wavy hair with the texture and glimmer of the wind, pale yet glowing skin, and breathtaking pupils, a shivering sea of violets, with a fire-kissed sunset setting upon them. That is how Sansa saw Aegon in her mind, curious to get acquainted with the next ruler in line. Of course, despite her imagination fretting over the presence of a gorgeous prince in her hold, she had learned to defy herself from beauty ; Sansa was also not fond of the idea of finding a husband yet, and if she would be betrothed she would have a say in the match, now that she was her own ruler. Therefore, wedding the Targaryen prince did not cross her mind at all as it would have been if she had returned to be the girl-child that she was.

Joffrey Baratheon, Tyrion Lannister, Petyr Baelish, Harrold Hardyng, all these men had been bound to her yet she had truly loved none of them, while she thought about the matches that her father could have made, such as Willas Tyrell or Trystane Martell. After all, loving someone was so dangerous in this world, and maybe it was for the better that she had never felt any pure, passionate love for any man. As the blooming flower that was her body, her heart was still untouched.

 

Still, Sansa decided to read the two other letters in the evening, while opening her creaking, yet wide and wooden door to bid a handmaiden go fetch Maester Felir. The first person she stumbled upon in the hallway was Alerie, one of the girls Sansa had taken under her protection during the war with the White Walkers. When she and Jon had reclaimed Winterfell, desolate villages and castles were the sole habitats for the common people, and it would only worsen with the storm that was coming. Alerie Snow was one of them. Her mother had been a handmaiden of a lady of the Reach, and the former had married a northern blacksmith who returned to his natal village near Karhold. Apparently, Torrhen Karstark had taken a liking to her mother and bedded her once, leaving her with child after. Since then, the girl’s life had only been misery after misery. Therefore, during one, cold, misty morning, when Sansa and her guards surveyed the land and had seen a trembling figure in rags, there had only been one thing to do.

 

“ Alerie, called gently Sansa.

The girl, a pretty figure with her striking sea green eyes and her sharp, typical Karstark features, curtsied respectfully at the sight of her lady.

\- My lady, can I be of any service to you?

\- Yes. Could you please fetch Maester Felir? He is probably in his office, and a few matters need to be discussed.

\- Of course, my lady. ”

 

With this, Alerie, in a flurry, was gone, and Sansa sighed, returning to her rooms, her beautiful grey dress trailing behind her. She sat at her desk, while she continued reading a book on the legends of Valyria that interested her greatly, and that interested her even more now that the Queen and Aegon Targaryen were visiting her at Winterfell. Before the Doom, the Valyrian Freehold and its capital had been towering over Essos and holding it in the palm of their hand ; what was ironic was that the Targaryens were not very powerful dragonlords at the time, yet were the only survivors of the cataclysm that crushed this ancient civilization, thanks to one woman, Daenys the Dreamer. It gave Sansa hope, at times.

 

A knock on the door. Alerie had returned quickly with the maester, it seemed. Sansa rose and announced that they could enter. Maester Felir was not too old, not like Maester Luwin had been, but in the prime of life; he had black, curly raven hair, just like Sansa’s half-brother Jon Snow, and chocolate eyes that were very sympathetic. His pale skin was crinkled at some places, and he had a very voluminous beard that accentuated his wise attitude.

 

“ Thank you Alerie, you can dispose. ”

 

The handmaiden curtsied again and left the rooms as swiftly as she had come. The lady of Winterfell returned to her desk and bid the maester to sit in front of her. She scrutinized him for a moment, processing her thoughts and of the many matters she needed to speak of, while the maester waited patiently and held absently his chains.

“ I have read the Queen’s letter and it says that they will in short time be travelling to Winterfell, in order to name me Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North. They will be here in less than two moons, Queen Daenerys, her nephew Aegon, the royal party that comes with them, and of course their three dragons. It appears that we have to start preparing the castle now, announced Sansa in a clear voice, not breaking eye contact with the man, sometimes tilting her head and playing with a long strand of her hair, a bad habit.

 

\- It appears so, my lady, answered calmly the maester. Could I read the letter, if you authorize me to do so?

 

Sansa hesitated a few seconds. Why would he want to read a letter that explicitly said what it said, although she had perceived the understatements of Daenerys who clearly established the Starks as a great house, but as a vassal one most importantly. Nevertheless, she trusted the man and he knew the great machines and workings of this world; he had dealt with the Dornish at a time where the Yronwoods were about to rebel against the Martells when Dornish unity was needed to pursue their goals. She handed him the letter and waited silently for him to finish reading it before speaking.

 

\- As you may have seen, the Queen is fond of reminding me that I am at her service, that House Stark is a vassal house to the Crown, but she does it in such a polite and implicit way, declared Sansa, the corners of her lips slightly tugging while the maester chuckled lightly.

\- It does not surprise me, lady Sansa. She is newly crowned, and she needs to establish herself as a strong ruler.

\- Indeed. It seems to me that three dragons is also a very powerful weapon to curb your enemies or recalcitrant nobles, and she made use of it again in her letter, continued Sansa, sighing slightly, her hand finding her hair again. But, we also need to gather the cooks, the servants, and all the remaining staff of Winterfell. A feast, several at least, must be prepared in advance.

\- You’re right, my lady, continued Maester Felir, his eyes twinkling at the prospect of this visit. Last I heard, the Queen and the Prince stayed one moon in Highgarden, and one and a half in Riverrun. Most importantly, we will have to find a space to shelter the dragons, and that will be no easy task. The best solution is that I conduct guards with me in order to find the best place for them.

 

Sansa looked at him with kind eyes, and nostalgia overwhelmed her. She remembered the times when Maester Luwin had been the maester of Winterfell, always advising in all fairness her father and her mother. The last time she had seen him was when she left her home to go to King’s Landing, alongside the royal party, not knowing all that she was losing and what awaited her in the capital. When she had ridden back north for the first time in an eternity, she had learnt that the old man had been killed during the Greyjoy sack of her home, her castle, her hold. She associated the maester with fond memories. Sansa remembered how Robb, Jon, and Theon annoyed him when they were children because his lessons were deemed boring by the boys, who preferred sword fighting with Sir Cassel. When she was a child of Winterfell and a Stark daughter, she did not spend much time with the old man because her septas were her teachers, but she was fond of him because he had always been gentle with her and had always said to Eddard and Catelyn that her, Sansa, the little lady, possessed a sharp mind and cunning that just needed to be developed. Indeed, she had managed to survive the game and gain from it. He had not been totally wrong.

 

- Tis’ a good idea, said Sansa. I shall gather the staff tonight and assign them the different tasks, while you will select the guards you’ll take with you, although they simply cannot build a structure the size of these dragons in two moons time. Instead, I think the carpenters and the builders, in general, should work on improving the solidity of Winterfell, if an accident happened. And find an appropriate natural shelter amidst the ice, naturally.

\- Of course.

\- I also think that I should gather a number of my bannermen who would stay at Winterfell for the same time as the Queen, added Sansa, closing her book on Valyria while marking the page she was reading. Despite the fact they will have to pledge their allegiance, it would give me an occasion to strengthen my rule but also to settle important matters, such as the inheritance of the Dreadfort.

 

It was the maester’s turn to stay silent for a few moments, as if he was remembering all the bannermen of House Stark and which to invite.

 

\- Lord Umber, Lady Mormont, Lord Karstark, his sister the lady Alys and her husband Sigorn of Thenn, as well as Lord Manderly, with their families, must be invited first and must be placed during feasts and meetings at high places, spoke the man, his deep voice calmly announcing a truth that Sansa had thought of herself.

\- Yes, of course, they are my most powerful bannermen. I would also judge wise to bid Lord Howland Reed to come, as he has been a true and loyal friend to House Stark. Then, Lady Cerwyn must also be reserved an honourable place; I value her rule, and Castle Cerwyn is just a half day's ride from Winterfell.

 

The maester nodded at her words. The Lady of Winterfell knew her people and bannermen well, and as she was not a man, it seemed she possessed qualities that lords lacked, which was diligence, tact and skill with words. Yet, with an army that she had built by rallying her bannermen after Stannis’ death, and with the help of the Night’s Watch and the wildlings under Jon’s command, who all had fled as the Others were approaching the Wall, she had reclaimed Winterfell and had fed Ramsay Bolton to his hounds. She had the stomach of a great lord, of a king.

 

\- Then we have Lord Glover, Lady Hornwood, Lord Ryswell, Lady Dustin, Lord Dormund, Lady Tallhart, and Lord Seaworth, continued Sansa, her beautiful eyes gazing into a nothingness estranged to everyone but her. I don’t think I have forgotten any, at least for the bannermen who owe their allegiance to House Stark directly. Furthermore, I can extend the duration of their stay only to some bannermen, such as Lord Umber, Lord Karstark and Lady Mormont.

\- My lady, that is a wiser plan, agreed the maester. When shall I write all the letters?

\- Not too soon, Maester Felir. I do not want a horde of northerners, noble or not, draining the resources we have prepared for the royal visit. Send them in two days, that shall do. Tonight, please gather the staff in the great hall.

\- At your service, my lady. Is that all? asked the maester, slowly rising from his chair to start executing the orders of his mistress.

\- No. I remember what you told me a few days ago.

 

Sansa was on the verge of tears. She could not show such weakness, and she thought she was well past that point, as she had been in horrible situations, humiliated, and she had managed to hold back, to stand afar and to disconnect herself from her own being, her own body, her own existence. She had regained all of it after she had fought for her family, for her countrymen, for who she was, but now she felt bruised by time. She wanted to protect her little brothers now, as Bran and Rickon were still so, so young, and had seen so much red, purple and blue. Her big, blue eyes, full of lies and make-believe, hardened.

 

\- I am worried about Rickon, quietly said Sansa at first, her knuckles turning white as her nails dug in her palm, trembling with fury and nervosity, her voice gaining intensity. As you informed me, he has refused to attend your lessons, and I have not seen him around the castle much. He spends all his days out there, in the wilderness, just like he used to do in Skagos, with the only company of his wolf who won’t let anyone touch him unless he says so. I am going to be frank with you. I am worried sick.

 

The maester looked at his mistress with gentle eyes, and he placed his tone in order to soothe her. _How old was she ?_ he thought. _Only eight-and-ten… So young…_

 

\- Have you tried to talk to him, my lady? Perhaps he simply needs a hand reaching for him, to lead him back into his rightful place, into civilization. That boy has been lonely, wild and angry at the world for most of his life, and you are the closest thing he has to a mother today. You are good with words, my lady, and he is your brother, your blood. Soothe him, and make him understand.

 

Sansa looked at the maester again and saw the truth in his eyes, and his words. Some words were the sky and not the fleeting wind she had believed they were for a long time.

 

\- Thank you, Maester Felir, answered softly Sansa.

\- Anything to serve you, my lady.”

 

On these words, the man bowed and turned around, his grey and rough robes grazing the stone floor of her chambers. The door closed with a loud creak. Sansa pondered more, seated at her desk, her fingers weaving through her beautiful hair.

She turned around to get a view of the stunning landscape, and she heard an echoing, deep howl through the thousand-year-old trees’ canopy. Shaggydog, she thought. 

 

**~**

 

The two guards accompanying her were a bother. She had set herself to find Rickon amidst the wilderness for the afternoon, and despite mounting her favourite Dornish mare, a gift from Trystane Martell, that she had called Nymeria in honour of her missing -or dead- sister Arya, the two Northerners had insisted on accompanying her. Anything could happen to her without protection. She did not want their presence here.

The wind was howling, and blurred any sounds from Shaggydog. If the direwolf had howled in such a pained yet powerful way, it meant that he wanted her to find her little brother; she could feel it deep in her soul, outside of any logic.

 

“ I know it is hard to see or hear anything with the wind, but try to hear a howl. It means Shaggydog is near and he will lead us to Rickon.”

 

Both men nodded silently. She was getting worried now. The weather looked stern and tempestuous, and Sansa could not leave Rickon out there on his own. She urged Nymeria to gallop faster; the mare, despite coming from Dorne, had been trained to extreme weathers, scorching heat or demolishing cold.

At some point, Sansa came atop of a hill that could have looked like a dune since it was very long and sloppy. The wind had died down a little. The sky was frighteningly grey.

 

The howl. She could hear it; it was far yet at a reasonable distance, meaning that Rickon was on the long hill. The Lady of Winterfell ordered Nymeria to go faster, and she could feel her woolly hood sliding from her head, the wind battling with the strands of hair that she had laced into two long braids. Her hands gripped the ropes, giving the last blow. She felt so free as she galloped, the wind adorning her race like a veil, dodging trees and rocks.

Sansa saw a dark frame a few feet away from Nymeria and urged the black shadow to stop. She could hear the muffled steps of the guards’ horses catching up with her, panting. She chuckled silently and dismounted.

Shaggydog came to her silently. His reddish ebony pupils looked apocalyptic and his dry tongue stuck loosely out of his mouth. He looked properly _mad_.

The lady Stark bent down and slowly approached her hand to his head, as he was easily aggressive in this state; he did not like being touched, not even by a Stark. Sansa remembered that out of the litter, Shaggydog had been the wildest and the most sombre, which had worried Catelyn Stark when her youngest child had chosen the young direwolf cub as his companion. Now, it seemed that a trick of fate had made master and wolf alike.

 

“ Tell me, Shaggydog, tell me where Rickon is…” she whispered gently as she stroked the copper fur of the direwolf. She had to coax the animal into the entry of his trusting bosom.

 

The queenly figure respectfully stood up as the wild animal wandered into the snow, its big paws crunching the white particles and the frozen grass beneath. Nothing gold could stay. Not even here.

Sansa followed him and signalled to the awaiting guards that she was fine. She was joining her kin. The direwolf steadily walked as the biting cold kissed her face, the multi-toned blue glimmer of her eyes intensifying. Time passed and the landscape did not change. Her feet were slow. Yet, walking on the hill’s crown felt good, something tugging deep in her loins and bringing her to the origins of her roots. Sometimes, her blue orbs and matted eyelashes that resembled will-o’-the-wisps looked up to the dawning sky, feeling some sort of spirit watching over her. Foolish thoughts.. It had been a long time since Sansa stopped believing into any sort of omniscient consciousness, whether it was the Seven, R’hllor or any other cult. Still, she believed that a breath of life echoed throughout every component of nature. The Stark heiress only felt that in the North. That is why she still prayed to the Old Gods, to hold onto some scrap of home. Everything was true here, at least now.

Shaggydog started to whimper painfully. Sansa darted her gaze forward and figured out a loose shape lying on the snow as if it was a bed of feathers; a small smile appeared on her lips while her feet walked faster, her mind still left above with a thousand of questions. One could hear the workings of her brain, well-oiled machine despite the biting cold, miles away.

Her youngest brother looked like a savage with an angelic face. His curly hair had grown longer and wilder and had started to turn into a golden ginger mane. He had a very pale complexion punctuated with freckles and deep, grey eyes that were open on an unknown emptiness, phosphene in a dark world. He had always been stocky, yet he seemed thinner than ever, almost breakable. Was that because of the grey tone of his eyelids’ and cheekbones’ skin? Or due to how his little hands, melting with the snow, were tinted with blue, purple and older scars?

 

Sansa sat down next to him, not caring one bit if her gown would get wrinkled. The boy’s empty orbs turned in their sockets towards her. Rickon’s jaw trembled. Of fury? Of sorrow?

 

“ Hey, softly said Sansa, looking fondly at her youngest brother. You should not stay here on your own for too long. It’s freezing out there.

 

He did not react. Instead, his frail right hand and willowy fingers stroked the white powder just like he stroked Shaggydog.

 

\- I don’t feel the cold anymore, Rickon croaked, his voice breaking not because of any strong emotion of the soul, but because he had not used it for the past two weeks.

 

A slow descent begins in Sansa’s head. She knew that after Osha had smuggled him out of Skagos when the Others had been defeated, that seeing Winterfell and his family again had been hard, harsh, unbearable. It was a euphemism of all the abandonment, the loneliness, the barrenness he had felt, or that he suggested, the only bright fire in this void being his pain.

Slowly, but surely, Sansa brought her hand closer to her brother’s, to finally hold it. It was like touching glass, hard, rock and icy glass. Yet it could break at any moment. She felt Rickon shudder, his eyes avoiding hers, his unruly curls battled by the boreal wind.

 

\- See? You can feel my warmth, Rickon. Just because your mind has accustomed itself to the weather does not mean your body is not succumbing to it. Just look at your hands. You have purple blisters and blue skin.

 

The young, wild boy froze.

 

\- No ! he snapped. My hands... - now, he was shouting, his pupils dilated, Shaggydog growling, licking its chops, wolf and boy alike, primitive yet undyingly craving for human consideration - They are white, pure, touched by snow! I have always belonged !”

 

It was Sansa’s turn to freeze as she took in the violent state in which Rickon was. He looked utterly distraught, rage, grief and mistrust deforming his traits, tears rolling down his sunken cheeks that used to look so plump and babyish.

He was not a child anymore.

Sansa tried to get a hold of his wrists, but as he wriggled out of her grasp, and as she was ready to prevent him again from escaping, a terrifying stillness took a toll on the youngest Stark’s body. The Lady of Winterfell, utterly horrified, could not let a sound out, as she put her ear next to her brother’s heart. However, the wind, the snow, were battling around her and she could not hear a thing.

 

“ RICKON, Sansa shouted with despair and fear engraved in her voice, RICKON! STAY WITH ME!

 

She shook him. He would not wake.

 

" Oh, by the gods, Sansa said again. GUARDS! GUARDS!”

 

With that wind, they surely could not hear her. She had no time to spare, and with whatever strength she had, the young Lady Stark carried her brother up to Nymeria. However, she was too weak to hoist him on the saddle. Instead, she gave a tap to her mare, who galloped away to see the guards, who would hopefully directly come up to her.

As she walked in the snow, as the wind battled around Sansa like a furious divinity, she could not help the tears from flowing. The young woman tried to refrain from her sadness and fear to become bigger, as her body would shake like a leaf in the wind, and she needed to preserve her strength. As she saw the shadow of Nymeria coming her way, with two others following, Sansa Stark stopped crying.

 

“ Rickon does not respond, she said to the guards who wore an astonished look on their faces. We need to bring him back to Winterfell as soon as possible.

 

Behind her, Shaggydog was growling, but he did not appear overly taken with pain or grief. _Rickon is not dead_ , thought Sansa. _But the cold might kill him if we linger here_.

 

\- Yes, m’lady, said one of the guards, named Aren, with the black hair, as he dismounted to help Sansa with her brother’s limp body. One of us should go and one should stay with you, m’lady. It’ll be quicker that way.

\- Go to Winterfell, Aren, responded Sansa, her head held high, her jaw tightened, her eyes meeting the ones of her guard. You carry within your hands the blood of Winterfell. Bring him home safely, as quickly as possible. Call the maester as soon as you arrive. Will you be able to do that for me?

\- Yes, m’lady.”

 

The guard looked surprised that she remembered his name, and almost flustered. Sansa was almost sure he was entirely loyal to House Stark. However, after the war and the Long Night, it was even harder to distinguish traitors amidst the crowd. If she could, she would have gone herself to Winterfell and carried her brother on her saddle, but she was too weak physically. Horseriding all afternoon, walking long distances, and the biting cold. As Aren spiralled away, holding Rickon firmly, Sansa immediately mounted Nymeria and started galloping.

She was now soaked, her clothes and her hair adorned by melted snow. As the night was falling upon the North, and as she could barely distinguish Winterfell, she sighed and felt almost grateful. _It was either in a moment of pure bliss or of utter despair_ , Sansa noted, _that we take conscience of our life’s futility_.

When finally she reached the gates, and the castle, as Jon waltzed towards her, worry etched all over his features, she could only do the same and embrace him.

 

“ How is Rickon? Sansa asked, her voice only a broken whisper.

\- He is okay, Jon whispered back. Maester Felir just left him, after having taken care of his hypothermia. He is sleeping right now.”

 

The young Lady Stark could only smile, a sigh of relief, as she looked up to the sky, seeing a shooting star pass by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo so I've been having this idea for a while and I thought why not post the first chapter and see where this goes. I'm not much advanced; I mean I have planned the storyline as a whole, but I'm currently writing chapter 2. It is not going to be one of those stories which focus on all characters and are plot-driven. This is a fanfic focused on Sansa, and later on, on Aegon, and their relationship, with obviously secondary characters like Jon, Daenerys, Margaery and Willas who will be important in this fic. So, this is a character-driven fic, taking place in an atmosphere of reconstruction, as exterior as it is interior.
> 
> English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes I made, as this is not beta-read. Everything belongs to George R.R. Martin as usual.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and leaving a comment always makes my day.
> 
> Hopefully, if anyone sees this, I'll see you on the next chapter (that I will try to post on Saturday, but no promises) !


	2. Sansa II

 

**Sansa II **

 

_Scarlette - Sevdaliza_

 

As soon as one of the stable boys had shouted that the Targaryen party was in sight, Sansa gulped and she felt her heart drop.

 

As the Lady of Winterfell made her way through the corridors of the castle, followed by Alerie, everyone was bustling with excitement. They rendered Sansa her heartbeat’s trepidations ten folds. When she finally arrived in the courtyard, she saw that Jon was already here with Bran, in his wheelchair, and Rickon, looking as sullen as ever. At least the youngest Stark child was not spending his days in the wilderness since the incident that occurred a moon prior.

Sansa sighed and made her way towards her family, her insides churning and rendering her almost sick. She only noticed now that all her bannermen were already present to welcome the new rulers. The young Stark woman nodded at them silently. She could see Lord Ned Umber, as charismatic as ever, with his two uncles, Mors and Hother, who had made the journey exceptionally from the Last Hearth, their old age tiring them out. Next to them were three beautiful ladies, a rare sight in Winterfell by the carnation of their skin, so much darker than the pale tone of Northerners. _Alysanne, Bellegere, and Sarella Snow_ thought Sansa. _Bastard daughters of Lord Umber, all issued from Essosi mothers_. Ned Umber was never designed to inherit the Last Hearth and therefore travelled a lot in this youth. However, the war and the White Walkers had decided otherwise.

As she made her way next to Jon, she could also see Lord Harrion Karstark, his sister Alys and her husband, all looking stern. Yet, Sansa had always appreciated Lady Alys, just like she had taken a liking to all the ladies Mormont, Alysane, Lyra, Jorelle and young Lyanna. Their sharpness of mind, their bravery, and their strength always reminded the Lady of Winterfell of her long-lost sister, Arya. A pang of sadness startled Sansa, that quickly faded away; she could hear horses and the shouts of men. Soon, Daenerys Stormborn and Prince Aegon would be before her.

 

The red-haired Stark could not help fiddling with her hands nervously. As she looked back one last time towards her bannermen, she finally got a glimpse of Lord Wyman Manderly, his son Lord Wylis and his wife Leona, his other son Ser Marlon, and of course, Lord Wylis’ daughters, the ladies Wynafryd, with her beautiful figure, and Wylla, with her striking green hair and eyes. The rest of her bannermen she could not picture clearly, as being smaller houses, they were at the back. These women were called the sirens of White Harbor, and for good reasons; Wynafryd looked more stern than her younger sister, who exhibited all the excitation and zest of youth.

 

Finally, the heralds rang and the gates open. Sansa took a deep breath, and she wished for her father and mother to be there with her, just like when Robert Baratheon came to Winterfell. But they were dead, and she was all alone. In this bout of panic, the young woman took a deep breath. She was strong. She was a Stark. She was the Lady of Winterfell. She had not come this far to be scared of a royal visit.

Her fists clenched as screeches were heard above, and as everyone looked up, three dragons were seen circling in the sky. Gasps were heard amidst the crowd and Sansa looked at Jon, flabbergasted.

 

“ Who knew we could ever get to see dragons again, dear brother?

\- The Targaryens are really full of surprises, methinks, replied quietly Jon, not meeting her gaze.”

 

Sansa directed her eyes to where her half-brother was looking, and she did not know where her heart was anymore. On a white horse, was riding a tall, very slender and young man, with milky skin. The prince had silver, almost white hair, that was unruly, wavy and that stopped right below his ears at the back, while at the front, beautiful strands of moonshine framed his face, some above his ears, some above his temples. Finally, his gaze met hers, and her hands trembled by the depth of the warm indigo that resided inside these pupils.

Tearing her gaze away from Aegon Targaryen, the Lady of Winterfell saw another white horse coming into the courtyard. The newly crowned Queen was everything Sansa expected and yet, not quite. Her long, wavy silver mane was not completely attached, only structured by, Sansa noticed, northern-style braids. She smiled discreetly, and the Queen immediately scrutinized her. Her heart-shaped face was lovely, her mouth looked soft and plump, yet, Sansa noticed, her cheekbones seemed high and hard, her brow proud, and the indigo in her eyes cold as ice.

As the rest of the party huddled in the courtyard, the Queensguard standing by their ruler, a young woman, with a pretty yet clever face, dark skin, and curly, brown hair, looking very similar to Bellegere Snow, came forward.

 

“ Here comes forth her majesty Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, Queen of Meereen, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains - and his majesty Prince Aegon of the House Targaryen, Sixth of his Name, rightful heir to the Iron Throne.”

 

As soon as her voice stopped booming through the courtyard, Sansa bowed down to the monarchs, followed by Jon, her brothers, and all her bannermen. She could hear the monarchs both dismounting and their steps tracing towards her.

 

“ Rise, Lady Sansa Stark, commanded a crystalline voice; the softness of the timbre that yet sounded so loud only served to reinforce the authority of Queen Daenerys.

 

As she rose, she was struck with the close distance at which the Queen and Prince Aegon stood from her. Taken aback by the Valyrian beauty of the monarchs, she was scared to meet their gaze, especially the Prince’s. Yet, if she was to be named Warden of the North, she should always hold her gaze high.

Strangely, it was easier to hold the Queen’s gaze than the Prince’s. Perhaps, because it was colder, harder, and Sansa had been used to harshness over the years.

 

\- It is an honour to receive you in Winterfell, your majesties, replied clearly Sansa. This is my half-brother Jon Snow, Lord Commander of the Wall. Without him, the Nightswatch and neither the North would be united to your service.

\- I believe we have already met, Jon Snow, said the Queen, her tone cold but almost amused.

\- Yes, we did, my Queen. During the battle of Eastwatch Bay, and at Winterfell.

\- These are young Brandon and Rickon Stark, I presume, Lady Sansa? asked Prince Aegon, forcing the young woman to look him in the eye.

 

Sansa was shocked by the timbre of his voice; it was not too deep, but deeper than she’d thought. It replicated the warmth of his irises.

She looked at her younger brothers, smiling gently, encouraging them to bow.

 

\- Yes, they are. Your Majesties, you must be tired after all that travelling. Let me show you to your rooms so you can rest before tonight’s feast.

\- Lead the way, my lady, offered generously Prince Aegon, smiling at her, if she interpreted it right, in a genuine way.

 

The Queen nodded at her nephew’s command. As Sansa walked alongside the monarchs, their household bustling about under the Queensguard’s direction, the warmth she felt in her body seemed strange under the cold atmosphere and the stern gaze of Daenerys Stormborn.

 

\- If I may ask, your Majesties, who was the person who introduced your titles in the courtyard? asked Sansa, genuinely wanting to know who that exotic woman was.

\- Missandei, my scribe, and confidante. She can speak 19 languages fluently and has been by my side since I went into Astapor.

 

 _The city of Astapor, by Slaver’s Bay_ , Sansa thought. _Where the Queen’s Unsullied army came from_. She had heard plenty of her bannermen mocking them because they did not possess their manhood anymore. She thought the mockery and jests stupid.

As she looked over to the Prince, Sansa caught his gaze and he smiled at her in an earnest way, yet seemed to look slightly surprised in the way his eyes shifted. She surprised herself at how much she wanted to run her fingers through his hair like she so often did it with hers. Anger rose in her at the foolish, sickening and horrible thought that came about her. Beauty was so deceiving, and she would only watch it with careful yet appreciative eyes. Didn’t Sansa hear, somewhere, when she was much younger, that the heart lies and the head plays tricks with us, but the eyes see true?

 

**~**

 

As Sansa took her rightful seat in Winterfell’s great hall next to the Queen, Jon by her left side, the Prince to the far right, she took in the festive and hot atmosphere that reigned. Hearty laughter rang in the air, alongside heavy drinking and feisty dancing. The solemness Sansa had known since she had taken back Winterfell had dissipated after all these months.

She could see by a subtle eye glance that Prince Aegon was whispering something to his aunt, and as the latter chuckled, the young Stark woman desperately wanted to know what it was. Yet again, she punished herself mentally for feeling a superficial fascination for a prince so handsome and yet so estranged from her.

 

As Sansa scanned her bannermen all rejoicing over the coming of the Targaryen royals and of the spring, a thought came to her suddenly; it broke the hazy mood in which she’d been in since this morning, the only tenseness remaining. Tyrion Lannister had not come to Winterfell with his Queen, and Sansa had heard, as always through a letter from Highgarden, that Daenerys had named him her Hand. The young Stark woman was still not free from marriage bounds; he had not come north. The Lady of Winterfell had to annul her marriage to Lord Tyrion. She would have to ride south. Sansa shuddered.

The young she-wolf turned towards Daenerys Stormborn.

 

“If I may inquire, your Majesty, where is Lord Tyrion?

 

As the Queen turned around, boring her gaze towards her host, the Valyrian pupils felt warmer and her milky cheeks were rosier. Alcohol. What a great aphrodisiac, insane pill, and destructor of gravity.

 

\- He has remained in King’s Landing to manage the city in my absence, as Hand of the Queen, alongside my general, Greyworm. I am sorry he could not come with us to Winterfell, Lady Sansa, as I know it would have been the opportunity to annul your marriage to him, replied Queen Daenerys, her tone also warmer.

 

Something sank in Sansa’s heart, confirming her fears.

 

\- I-it is nothing, your Grace. It seems I will have to ride south sooner or later to finally be a free woman.

 

 _How ironic is that_ , the young Stark woman thought. For one last time she would see the Red Keep, to free herself of marital bounds; the first time she had seen it she’d wanted nothing more than Joffrey.

 

\- I am also sorry for what the Lannisters did to you in King’s Landing. I know what it feels like to be married off like cattle and being humiliated, raped, spoke softly the Targaryen queen, her features seemingly looking much softer under the dim lights.

 

The word raped threw Sansa in a hellish sensation of coldness; her whole body stiffened. The young woman did not know what to feel between sadness for the Queen or fear that everyone thought she’d been raped. Sansa did not dare imagine what could have happened and she realized how easy it would have been for any man to do such a thing to her.

 

\- Thankfully, your Grace, I was not… raped, the Lady of Winterfell replied quietly, the word flaying her tongue.

\- I am not ashamed to talk about it, Lady Sansa. And neither should you. Joffrey Waters is dead, Cersei Lannister is dead, the Kingslayer too.

 

After a cold fear, spread a warm anger in her blood at the mention of the previous Queen’s name. However, the satisfaction with which Sansa’s blood churned at the thought of a bloody execution satiated her. Yet, this feeling was overpowered by the desire to live and rule that the young Sansa Stark had in her. Cersei Lannister was dead and she had lost, whereas the little dove was alive, had survived.

 

\- Was the Queen Mother’s execution… painful?

\- Oh, she screamed and she screamed, lady Sansa, as wildfire consumed her like it had her spirit, Daenerys Stormborn replied, a smile spreading on her features, discovering pearly white teeth.

 

What a delight.

 

\- If I may be so bold to ask, what happened to her two remaining children? They were only kids and were of a kind nature.

 

Sansa’s heart ached for little Tommen, whom despite having been a royal child, and having been king, had lived a bleak life. She could only remember Myrcella vaguely before she was shipped off to Dorne.

 

\- I have let Tommen Waters live. He was too young during everything that happened, and executing a child for the crimes of his parents… I did not want to be as the Usurper was, even though I do not think I would have been able to surpass him in cruelty. I have made the child Tyrion’s ward, to keep him under my watch and assuring myself he would be well raised by his uncle.

 

The Targaryen royal took a cautious tone while explaining the whereabouts of little Tommen; after all, it was a delicate issue for a Dragon Queen to decide of the fate of two Lannister offsprings. Yet, it appeased Sansa to see she had been merciful, confirming she was unlike her father, the Mad King. The comparison to Robert Baratheon in that regard also amused the Lady of Winterfell.

 

\- It is a relief to hear so, your Majesty. What about young Myrcella? Last I heard she was in Dorne, betrothed to Trystane Martell, interrogated Sansa, quirking a brow.

\- She still was when we came to Dorne in order to name Arianne Martell its ruler. However, she was fragile, very sick, and she died under very mysterious circumstances. May we speak in all confidence, Lady Sansa? As a Lady Paramount, I esteem you have the need to hear what I have to say.

 

To hear of the passing of Myrcella somehow pricked directly into Sansa’s heart. Yet, the sensation quickly vaporized itself, as death was a common wanderer in this world. But the girl was so young, and she was almost of her own age. Furthermore, the secretive tone of the monarch did nothing to suppress Sansa’s uneasiness.

 

\- Of course, your Majesty.

 

There was a silent pause, where the Queen scrutinized her. Sansa felt a bit naked under her gaze, but she firmly held eye contact. Her blue could be as cold as indigo.

 

\- Well, I do think young Myrcella was slowly poisoned, and observing the Martell family, I deduced it would be at... the Sand Snakes’ hands. They thought Trystane weak and the girl being a Lannister, could not stand her. While Prince Doran was still alive, they could not do much being imprisoned and so, I do think, poisoned her very slowly. The illness the poor girl was suffering from looked… insidious. When news came of Quentyn’s death, and sadly the boy was too reckless in trying to wed me and retrieve me back, the necessity seemed stronger to eliminate Myrcella for them.

\- That is terrible, to do such a thing to a young girl…

 

The Queen took some time to answer. _Terrible things happen all the time to young, little girls_ , thought Sansa. _Royal or not. Especially not._

Torn apart from her mother, sold to a foreign prince - Sansa did not know if Myrcella had wanted Trystane Martell or not -, alone in a foreign city - just like her -, but killed at the hands of cruel women. What a fate. After all, young Myrcella had been born out of a cruel woman.

 

\- It is, Lady Sansa. And when Prince Doran died after this terrible ambush happened in Dorne during the Long Night, they were free to act… Soon, Myrcella was declared terribly ill according to Arianne and she died two days after my arrival to Sunspear.

\- Stability was surely needed in Dorne, your Grace, as the Sand Snakes and Ellaria Sand needed to be put under control; they could’ve done some harm to Prince Trystane… who knows, after all, whispered Sansa, a creepy feeling invading her. Another witness to cruelty.

\- Indeed, indeed. That is why I was immensely reassured by the character of Princess Arianne. She showed herself a skilled politician and she is well-liked by the Dornish, announced the Queen, in a much clearer voice. During the ceremony I held at Sunspear where the Princess was named ruler of Dorne and pledged allegiance to me, she made Ellaria and the Sand Snakes pronounce publicly a special Dornish oath reserved to family members. They now have their hands tied.

 

 _Good, good_ , Sansa thought, her jaw tense, her eyes thundering. _I pray that they know what it feels like to be caged, imprisoned, powerless. I pray even if I take no part._

 

\- That is indeed clever on the Princess’ part, she said, blankly, calmly.

\- Arianne herself told me it was advice from her good friend, Lady Margaery Tyrell. I have come to learn you had connections with the same lady as well, chuckled Daenerys Stormborn.

 

Ah, when Sansa Stark thought of Margaery Tyrell, old feelings resurfaced. She truly held the lady in high affections and they had been entertaining an epistolary friendship over the last year. Yet, when she was back at King’s Landing in her head, Sansa could only see but the truth. The Tyrell lady had used her, had protected her because Sansa was the key to the North. There was no sincerity. She could’ve been angry. She was, for a time. Sometimes, anger was good. But this time, it was pure, bitter poison. The Tyrells had been the least of the lesser evils.

 

\- During my captivity in King’s Landing, I do think that Margaery was my only friend at some point. She tried her best to protect me with her cunning, and that was all she could do at the time. Lady Tyrell was indeed in a delicate position, about to be married to… Joffrey.

\- It seems Lady Margaery has been an important figure in politics here. Three times Queen, three times widowed.

 

 _She is_ , Sansa thought, smiling to herself. _And she is dangerous mostly because she appears not to be_.

 

\- With hindsight, I do believe it essential that women ruling and in places of power must confide in each other, abide by each other and support each other in a world usually ruled by men, the young Stark woman said.

 

Sansa was earnest and truthful in what she said to the Queen. She liked the frankness in Daenerys Stormborn, which made her ambitions appear much less scary and malevolent than the Lady of Winterfell originally thought they were. Furthermore, with a personality like that on the throne, and after a year of writing letters to her, Sansa hoped Margaery would consider frankness as a value to incorporate in her decisions.

Despite everything that had happened, a little light remained in Sansa’s heart, and she was not weak because of it. Just like the blossoming buds of spring, she had made it through winter with this little light that kept her warm, where the coldness of her mind helped her adapt to the circumstances around her.

 

\- I do agree with that mindset, Lady Sansa, and I like to think that my reign will abide by that lovely idea, hopefully beaming reality, of change, replied the Queen, smiling lightly but -... sincerely.

 

The word change was one the young Stark woman had started to like, and think about often.

 

\- The day you came to Westeros, your Grace, the day the first fisherman saw three dragons riding in the sky was when the revolution was declared, said Sansa, her voice clear, but slightly trembling and vibrating of unspoken emotions. I do admit; I did not know exactly where that would bring us if it would be better than before, what it would entail for me. I dared not hope - too much. Yet, at that moment, while I was in the Eyrie, I thought for the first time in forever of King’s Landing and wished to be a fly in the Red Keep to see Cersei Lannister’s face when she read the raven bringing news of your venue.

 

Power, hope, blood, and war preceded them, and power would still remain after them, and it was of all of these things that Sansa Stark’s voice spoke of and rung true too. The latter knew her interlocutor knew because she smiled.

And as Queen Daenerys was about to answer - Sansa could see it by the movement in her jaw -, a deeper voice rang in an overly excited and loud atmosphere.

 

\- Curious that a Stark should wish for the rule of a Targaryen.

 

The Lady of Winterfell immediately knew to whom the voice belonged. Yet again, that alto tone, the richness and the warmth of it, and the crystalline, valyrian, sharp sounds were electrifying. And as Sansa repositioned her body to the left to face him, his eyes, strange, warm indigo, as strange as it seemed homely, duplicated the feelings evoked by his voice.

The young woman did not know for how long Prince Aegon Targaryen had listened.

 

\- One could very well say, my Prince, that it is a curious thought for dragonlords from a foreign, far away land to come and conquer a continent that belonged to the First Men, the Andals, and mayhaps a corner of the South to the Rhoynar, she replied, curtly, in the same playful manner as he did.

 

When Prince Aegon chuckled, Sansa could’ve sworn stars had exploded in her heart. Yet, she also thought she had drunk a bit too much wine to her liking.

 

\- If I remember correctly, my lady, but forgive me for being a bit estranged from this land, it first belonged to the Children of the Forest.

 

It was her turn to let a laugh escape her lips, and shake her head as a playful jest. When she looked over to the Targaryen prince, Sansa could’ve sworn stars had exploded in his eyes. Yet, she also thought she had taken in, drank his beauty and wit a bit too much to her liking.

 

\- Then we are all strangers and invaders here, which as a consequence is a common trait we share, isn’t that so? she dared to ask, challenge in her eyes, her lips quirking into a smile. Should we all emigrate back to where our ancestors were? My prince, my queen, that would be silly indeed. I would suggest a peaceful rule of this kingdom by your Majesty, aided in this start by the Ladies and Lords Paramount.

 

Sansa knew the Prince would not find anything to answer to this immediately, and she was glad of this small triumph. Aegon Targaryen chuckled again, almost to himself, as if he was keeping a secret in his heart. When he looked at her again, and when their eyes met, that electrifying sensation raked up her body again.

Some said the world would end in fire, others in ice. In her case, Sansa’s world had started in ice, but, every time she looked in Aegon’s eyes, it felt as if it was set ablaze.

 

\- Enough of the banter, though I do appreciate it. Let us have some music and dance !”, announced Queen Daenerys, breaking the eye contact between her nephew and the Lady of Winterfell.

 

As hearty, Northern music rose in the Great Hall of the Starks’ ancestral home, the young Stark woman had almost forgotten about Jon, on the far left of the table. She suddenly felt awful for not including him in the conversation she just had, but Sansa was relieved to see he was in a deep discussion with Lord Ned Umber. As she witnessed couples starting to form, she decided she wanted to dance with her half-brother, possibly to try and convince him to stay longer at Winterfell before returning to the Wall.

As she approached, a siren of White Harbor was quicker than her. Wynafryd Manderly just boldly asked Jon to dance with her, Sansa noted. She has definitely taken an interest in him. Amused, the Lady of Winterfell hoped he would not act shy in front of Lord Wyman’s granddaughter, as she looked at Jon’s puzzled expression when the lady grabbed his hand to join her.

However, when she turned back to her right, the Prince stood right in front of her seat, only the wood of the table separating them. His scarlet apparel, looking as shimmering and soft as velvet, contrasted with his silver hair that was left untamed. Sansa could have stayed there - to observe him - for hours but Aegon Targaryen gave her a smile, and he bowed to her with panache.

 

“ Would my lady accord me this dance?

 

She did not hesitate in giving her answer, brevity being the soul of wit, but also a remedy to calm the flutters in her stomach.

 

\- Yes, of course.”

 

Sansa Stark rose from her seat, and, as she came to the Prince, he gave her his arm in a gallant gesture. As soon as her pale, delicate hand rested on the milky yet warmed toned skin of this southern Prince, the electricity she’d been feeling multiplied itself. It felt like their corporal temperatures were tasting one another, taking in each other; north and south, Westeros and Essos, ice and fire.

The pair finally joined the other dancing couples, putting themselves in position for a Northern dance with quite a slow pace. The Prince was holding both of her hands in his palms, his own hands willowy yet strong and slightly calloused. Sansa could not help notice the contrast, and yet she could feel quite the air of harmony in the air. At the same time, the Lady of Winterfell only stole glances of Prince Aegon’s face and he was watching her every time.

They came nearer to each other, as the dance was, and the Prince finally spoke, intently looking at her.

 

“ You have much wit, my lady.

 

Again, that warm, alto voice that had thrown her in that dream-like stage of prickling introspection. As her blue eyes looked up to him, Sansa could see he was smiling again, and she thought this smile was one of the tenderest things she’d seen in her life. The young woman willingly called herself an utter mess inside since the venue of Queen Daenerys and Prince Aegon, and she’d always been frazzled by physical contact or any physical manifestation of an emotion. Yet, she was good with words.

 

\- Are you surprised, Prince Aegon? The North can be icy, but if we have something to say our tongues unfreeze themselves very willingly, Sansa replied.

 

She rendered to Aegon his smile and could finally look him in the eye. The young man made her spin, and Sansa could feel her hair flowing around the room like a waterfall of sunsets. And again, she came back nearer, like a yo-yo.

 

\- That I have seen, and it seems me and my dear aunt appreciate the frankness of Northerners compared to the flatteries and honeyed smiles of those petty little houses populating the South.

 

The statement made Sansa chuckle, and as her laugh rang into the room with the music, like a form-fitting dress, the Prince also joined her. It seemed her chuckle had provoked a laugh in him.

 

\- My prince, careful, as petty little houses are frankly the characteristics of any region of the Seven Kingdoms.

 

Aegon made her spin again, and Sansa could let him don so until the latest hours of the night.

 

\- But you do admit that the North possesses a certain frankness stemming from harshness in this weather, that clashes certainly with the softer spring, sheltering trouts, roses, apples, and maybe some lions as well, strangely, the Prince immediately answered while she was nearer, his indigo eyes twinkling, an enigmatic smile ornating his face.

\- It is true, that when coming south a Northerner will be eminently surprised and will be seen as more barbaric, Sansa admitted, a tinge of dread sprouting in her head when she thought of her first and only trip South, all these years ago.

\- How can those southerners see the North as barbaric with you as the Lady of Winterfell? he replied in a whisper, with frankness and softness.

 

Her heart stopped. Sansa did not know what to do. It had been so long since she had received any compliment on- what exactly was the Prince saying ? That she had beauty? Grace? She knew her “beauty” was not soft like the South worships it, was unlike the beautiful rosy traits and mellow aura of Margaery Tyrell, unlike the ladies of Casterly Rock and Lannisport whom looked like gold charmingly carved by the sea in voluptuous hips and clever eyes, most unlike the exotic and infamous allurements of Arianne Martell, whose tanned and full figure was a sweet poison every man would have killed himself with for a night with her, as Ser Arys Oakheart did in a way.

Albeit well-worded, and causing much-unwanted sparks of joy in her lower abdomen, unknown regions of her body, she stayed confused and standoffish.

 

\- My prince, y-your words are too much, the Lady of Winterfell said in a quiet voice, lowering her head, to try and hide her flaming cheeks.

\- On the contrary, I think they are just. Everyone calls you the Rose of the North, my lady, replied immediately Aegon Targaryen, searching for her eyes.

 

 _The Rose of the North_ , thought Sansa, scoffing. _I am **not** another Margaery Tyrell_. Straightening her back, spinning again, she met the Prince’s eyes when she returned nearer to him as the music kept on going. She hoped her gaze was of steel.

 

\- Then, they are wrong. I never was a rose, and even the appellation of a rose with thorns so commonly given to ladies showing a bit of wit in the Tyrell fashion does not apply to me, I fear.

\- What does apply to you then, my lady?

 

Sansa did not reply immediately, because she was yet spinning again. However, she did not want to draw unnecessary attention to her with words: she could do so by her silence.

 

\- I am but a Stark, and the Lady of Winterfell. I cannot put it more plainly, declared the young woman, this time intently staring at the Prince, her blue eyes showing hard resolution as well as vulnerability.

\- The Lady of Winterfell, is that so ?, the Targaryen heir interrogated, rendering as much intensity in his gaze as she did.

\- What else did you expect, my prince? Sansa scoffed before spinning and coming back yet again.

 

The prince smiled quizzically, almost with a sad admiration and wonder.

 

\- It’s not so much about expectations but more about a thirst for knowledge. I do not want to bore myself learning about the Lady of Winterfell, but Sansa Stark seems like a fairly interesting person.

\- I’m not sure, my lord, if she is really worth your time. She is, according to all, a boring rose of the North, replied Sansa, a playful smile ornating her lips.

 

She let a little laugh escape her at the thought of that ill-fitting nickname. Sansa hoped the Prince would not take her jest badly, and she feared impulsiveness. Aegon Targaryen did not laugh, but the next question he would ask would surprise her, as did the glimmer in his indigo pupils.

 

\- Lady Sansa, could we perhaps speak less formally? After all, I and my aunt will not leave Winterfell just yet, and there is so much to see, he asked, with a gentle tone.

 

As the music started to tone down, Sansa gave her answer.

 

\- Are you perhaps enticing me to be your guide, my lord?

\- Please call me Aegon, Sansa.

 

The young Stark woman did not know what it meant for the Prince, but for her, a dropping of formalities meant an inherent closeness with the person concerned, or the desire for that closeness. However, she knew she’d be named Warden of the North in the following days, and political friendships were indeed crucial for Queen Daenerys and Prince Aegon.

 

\- Aegon… but what about the Queen? I am after all the ruler of the North. Isn’t it more appropriate to - ?, the Lady of Winterfell replied, in a timid voice.

 

The Prince smiled, making her spin one last time.

 

\- Daenerys seems to appreciate your half-brother. He was after all your co-ruler when you retook the North and during the Long Night. Furthermore, we shall frequently find the four of us together during the many feasts you have planned, and during councils.

 

The thought of spending so much time with the Prince was one of joy but also dread. Sansa could not let herself daydream about any foolish representation of a possible, golden future with anyone; she had a hold, a vast, frozen land to rule, and she was on her own. _It is really foolish_ , Sansa thought, as her blue eyes started clouding with worry, _to see how we can never escape our flaws from our past selves even if we grow_.

 

\- Well, then I think it’s settled, but it depends if you want the Lady of Winterfell or Sansa Stark to take you on a tour of Winterfell and its lands, she replied, trying to stray away from her internal worries by using a playful tone.

 

The music stopped completely, and the dance was coming to an end. Aegon and Sansa bowed at each other.

 

\- I think I’d rather much prefer Sansa Stark, said the Targaryen prince, smiling so earnestly, illuminating the room like a thousand suns.

 

For a moment, Sansa thought she could not breathe, and the playful smirk she was sporting disappeared to be left with an expression of wonder.

 

\- Well, you might find her tomorrow if you’re lucky, Aegon”, Sansa replied finally, unable to give back her smile but her eyes carrying a gleeful expression.

 

As everyone went back to their respective seats, the solemn and cold atmosphere of winter seemed to warm itself up, almost like Sansa's heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the second chapter! I said I'd put it up on Saturday but I was busy all weekend, therefore, I'm only posting it today, which is Monday.
> 
> I hope you liked it, and this one has much more dialogue than the first one for obvious reasons, such as the arrival of Dany and Aegon. Furthermore, and I don't think I've stressed it enough in Chapter I's notes, but this is not an epic plot story: I love ASOIAF and I have read all the books, but I am not a huuuuge ASOIAF/GoT nerd who wants to tell their own ending of the story for each and every single one character. That is why I won't take into account many details from the books and many minor characters that I don't find pertinent in regards to this story and how I want to tell it; therefore, if there are some minor loopholes compared to the ASOIAF books, that is completely normal as I have taken some creative liberties.
> 
> This is not a plot-driven fanfic, but a character-driven fanfic exploring the minds and POVs of Sansa mainly, of soon Aegon (stay tuned for that ;D), and of course exploring the development of their relationship. It will be quite a slow burn, and I cannot wait for you all to see where the storyline is going (hint: do not fret, we are not going to stay in Winterfell forever :P); I also cannot wait to fully explore the characterization of "my" Aegon, or how I picture him in my mind ; I mean, he was heavily present in this chapter but it was from Sansa's POV and they've just met.
> 
> Hope you will enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it; thank you to all the people who left kudos and most importantly to the people who commented on the first chapter! Comments always make my day and I love reading them and answering them!
> 
> Finally, see you on the next chapter, which probably won't be uploaded until next week ;)


	3. Sansa III

** Sansa III**

 

_In My Feelings - Lana del Rey_

_Are You In Love? - James Blake_

 

 

It was snowing heavily that morning; Sansa's eyes of steel were diamonds mounted by the castle and the sky's magnificent sulkiness. Her pace was quick, and it seemed like she had no time to lose. A fiery cascade undulated in her back and acted, almost, as an enchanting armour.

A new resolve is in her eyes.

The doors of the Great Hall of Winterfell slammed as she walked in, the Queen, the Prince and Jon already in discussion. As was expected of her, she bowed to Daenerys Stormborn, just as icy, and to the infamous Aegon Targaryen, whose gaze she purposefully avoided. The Lady of Winterfell then gave a small, yet gentle nod to her half-brother.

 

« Good morning again, Lady Sansa, trumpets the Queen, her hair braided in a style Sansa had never seen before.

\- Good morning again, your Majesties, she courteously replied. After the tiring morning we've had, another grand feast will be organized tonight to relieve our spirits.

\- In truth, sister, I am relieved to see that all the bannermen have pledged so easily their allegiance to you, and to our Queen, said Jon, a tired look in his dark, piercing eyes.

\- After the Long Night, it seems their thirst for power has been quenched for a time; they long to find peace, joy and calm. Let's hope it will last for another fifty years, declared the Queen.

 

Sansa did not believe it for one second. By now, the hearts of men and their secrets had all been uncovered to her by the funny force that was life, and not by one heartbeat would Sansa solely rely on words, faith and the silence of the spaces above them all. That age was over. As she plunged into the sunsets of Aegon Targaryen's eyes, his gaze giving back intensity ten folds, she wished for nothing more than to never covet them again.

 

\- Well, we have secured Dorne, the Reach, the Riverlands, the West, and the North seems to be relatively united after your actions, Lady Sansa and Lord Jon, replied the Prince, tearing his gaze away from Sansa, and offering a polite, yet slightly mischievous smile to Jon.

 

At that moment, Sansa steeled herself and sent a hard gaze to her half-brother, clearly indicating not to correct the Prince. Jon never liked being called a lord or having anything to do with a title of nobility, preferring to confine to terms appropriate to the Night's Watch. When both Northerners caught a glimpse of each other, Sansa could see Jon refrained from saying anything through his retreating body language. Yet, he looked angry and hollow, his jaw tense.

However, when Sansa turned her attention back to the two Targaryens, the look the Prince gave her made her queasy inside, but stand taller and firmer outside. She sized up the future king and did not render any of the interest or the intensity he gave her, all without speaking a word.

 

\- What are you going to do about the Vale? With Lysa Arryn and little Robyn - gone..., said Sansa.

\- That is a question I am still left pondering over. And the Stormlands were also left completely in ruins, the Baratheons extinct, replied the Queen, her tone pensive, but her icy violet orbs very much alert in all of their stillness.

\- On our way back to King's Landing we have to secure the Vale. The Eyrie will most likely go from the Arryns to a vassal house, with the closest correlation to Jon Arryn, added the Prince, a kingly, serious tone found again in his voice.

 

Sansa was thinking about the problem concerning the Stormlands and she suddenly came up with an idea.

 

\- About the Stormlands, if I may add something; since you, my Queen, will be ruling hopefully for a very long time, and Prince Aegon being your heir, you could name him Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. At least for the meantime, it could be a viable solution. Didn't you stay and occupy the Conningtons' ancestral home for months, my Prince?

\- That is so, Lady Sansa. If I know one region well enough in this continent, it would be the Stormlands.

 

The young Stark woman then witnessed the Prince giving an albeit polite smile to her half-brother, but there was something mocking and provocative in that expression. Sansa could sense the competition and the animosity between the two men, but as to why she could not guess. Maybe there wasn't anything to guess about.

 

- This not a bad idea, sister. They are closest to the capital, and it would enable you, my Prince, to show yourself as an able governor, replied Jon, clearly gaging the reaction of a certain Dragon Prince targeted by that hidden jest.

\- Indeed a wise idea. But I'll still need you in the capital, dear nephew, and I'm afraid you'll have to ride your horse quite a lot.

 

Internally Sansa was relieved for the Queen’s intervention which dissipated the tension a little bit. However, she could still see Jon’s tense jaw and the satisfaction in his eyes; whilst Aegon, despite possessing humorous traits as the Lady of Winterfell had observed over the past few days, held a firm yet annoyed glance in Jon and Daenerys’ direction, almost childishly blaming his aunt for taking Jon’s side.

Still, the Lady of Winterfell developed on the political move she had imagined.

 

\- On various accounts given to me by scouts, and by my good friend the lady Margaery Tyrell that you've had the pleasure of meeting, your Majesties, it appears the social and hierarchical fabric of the Stormlands is non-existent. It will be easy for you my Prince to be named Lord of the Stormlands.

\- Well, Lady Sansa, you might have just solved one of our problems. Instead of staying in Winterfell you would perhaps be better on the Small Council, replied the Prince.

 

Sansa looked right at him; by turning her head rapidly, like a deer in headlights. Only her eyes talked for her this time. It was obviously a joke, a complimentary jest, on the surface. It had to be, otherwise, it would not be proper.

Oddly, as the Lady of Winterfell scrutinized the face of the Targaryen Prince, his jaw was tense, highlighting sharp features, a jaw carved in marble with its beautiful curves, its clever use of light and shadow, dangerously sharp and so perfectly brutal, and Aegon Targaryen seemed to use its muscles well. If his jaw was that sharp, how would his sword be?

Yet, Sansa could see the flush in his cheeks, the warm white gently colouring itself with blood, the freckles acting like a thousand suns on innocent, round hills of soft skin.

A jest, a compliment, but to her, it sounded like a broken promise. The intensity that only she seemed to sense in Aegon’s words, hidden under his playful tone, made her worry about the future.

Sansa had underestimated how unpredictable Aegon could be.

 

\- She is a Stark. Her place is here, my Prince. Furthermore, I hope, my Queen, that you will purify King's Landing of the rottenness left by the Lannisters, replied Jon, his stern and low voice breaking the silence.

 

The Stark heiress was startled, her half-brother interrupting her reflections. Obviously, given the previous level of animosity between the two men, it was to be expected that Jon would put the Prince back in his place.

Sansa did not particularly enjoy the childish hostility motivated by toxically high levels of pride and misplaced manhood; on both sides. Yet, the worry and anguish of ever setting foot again in King’s Landing, or even worse, partaking in its venomous politics gripped her. Sansa could never let go of the fragile feeling of home she’d found again after all these years.

By that, the Lady of Winterfell looked at Jon and gave him a small smile. She did not dare look at the Prince’s reaction.

 

\- I will do my best, Commander. Until then, take care of the Wall for me, and please build other places of life alongside it. It needs to be renewed.

 

The Queen spoke with a clear, firm voice, the authority clear. She was clearly implying that Jon should stop testing the Prince so much.

Sansa could see that he had understood the message because her half-brother nodded to her words just like a puppy; yet his face remained stoic, dark and a little grave, as it was always the way with Jon.

Surprisingly, the Lord Commander of the Wall spoke again.

 

- In addition, my Queen, I thought you might have wanted to meet my younger brother, Brandon. He has had visions about dragons multiple times that might spark your interest.

 

Sansa looked up, startled, her painstakingly alert blue eyes betraying her lack of knowledge on her younger brother’s strange dreams. However, just as she got her act back together, the Lady of Winterfell realized Prince Aegon was not surprised by this fact - his face had not changed one bit - but his face was tense, all his muscles ready to jump out to tear apart any threat, any glimpse of a blade, any too adventurous limb, hiding even the shadow or the dusty remnants of a sombre intention.

It was just a detail.

But the Prince was afraid.

 

\- If anything from what I have learned in Essos, from the childhood memories of the Free Cities and of the Pentoshi air, to my conquests in the Dothraki Sea and Slaver's Bay, to finally my whereabouts around the Jade Sea to Westeros, is that dreams are to be taken seriously. I would very much like to meet young Brandon Stark, and perhaps show him my dragons, declared Daenerys Targaryen, her voice regal, her choice of words noble, holding her head high; however, the Queen turned around, her gelid purple pupils looking straight through her. Lady Sansa, I'll trust you'll be able to take care of my nephew and show him around Winterfell.”

 

With that, recognising a dismissal, Sansa curtsied to the Queen as Jon led her out of the Great Hall. As he was leaving, the Lady of Winterfell’s half-brother sent her a sorry glance and an encouraging glance, as if being stuck with Aegon Targaryen was the worst thing that had happened to her thus far. Sansa chuckled internally.

The Stark ruler turned around, her braids and the little curls framing her delicate temples lightly bouncing. Aegon Targaryen had dropped his serious face, his frown gone like the snow outside, his posture a bit more slouched by the window but a slight arrogant smirk framing his lips.

Sansa sighed, her profile being illuminated by the light filtered through the glass windows. She looked outside, and it was bright, glimmering white mixed with deep slashes of greens as the ancient trees proudly exhibited their white armours. The ethers above were clear and the young lady enjoyed the sunrays bathing in her skin, condensing in her freckles, marrying the curves of her complexion, light and white making stars.

 

“Well, it's just the two of us now! How fun without your stern half-brother and without my aunt, who, despite how wonderful she is, can get quite overbearing at times, Aegon suddenly said, running his long fingers through his silvery hair, which today looked quite wild.

 

The Prince truly was a handful for her mind and Sansa thought it strange. Aegon Targaryen seemed to be lost between different spheres, between different worlds.

He had shown himself a man, a strategist, calculating every single step of the way to come this far, proving to the world his very own existence after having been in the shadows for so long. Aegon’s ambitions and desires for power were self-mastered, assured, carefully gilded and thought of, by a patient mind and a body sculpted into the one of a warrior, being the vessel to operate a bloody catharsis that no man could escape from.

Yet, parts of him were still a boy, his impatience, jests and impulses betraying his youth, the profound fire that raged in his loins, arising from weaknesses that Sansa had not yet identified, just like fire from ash.

The history of the Targaryen dynasty was one known by everyone in the Seven Kingdoms, and by thus it had become a myth, parts of it exposed to gleaming sunlight, others pushed back in the shadows. Just as this one, where the Dragon had come back to take what he deemed rightfully his, after years of strife and chaos.

Sansa wanted to know more about that family, about the Prince’s situation, and so about his relationship with his aunt.

 

\- You could have married her. Two Targaryens ruling side by side, as the blood of Valyria would have wanted it.

 

Sansa’s voice rang clear, and she took Aegon Targaryen by surprise.

 

- And what then? Without any descendants? I'm sure you're aware Daenerys is barren after that old maegi cursed her in the Dothraki Sea. The succession of the Targaryen dynasty is what is crucial now, and the best choice we could make as kin and blood was to name me as heir.

 

 _An uneasy, sharp response,_ noted Sansa _. It is quite easy, after all, to taunt this Dragon Prince._

 

- You must be the most desired match throughout Westeros. All kinds of girls and women will throw themselves at your feet, even to be a royal mistress. I dare say women from Essos as well. The Lysene noble feminine gent will be after you, and maybe courtesans from Braavos as well. If I remember correctly, the Black Pearl's ancestor was the mistress of one of your kingly kin? replied the Lady of Winterfell, the words easily flowing out of her lips, her eyes fixed on the Prince.

 

Sansa did enjoy the banter, and she would continue to try and unwind the secrets of this dynasty if she could. The Targaryens were not the enemy, but she’d feel safer going to sleep knowing that she can read the future ruler of Westeros. It’d prove a useful tool.

 

- Bellegere Otherys, mistress of Aegon the Unworthy. Well, I sure hope I'll be worthy of my throne, and who knows? My Queen might end up being from Yi Ti, or Asshai-by-the-Shadow.

 

A chuckle escaped her, and the Stark woman could see that Prince Aegon had gone back to a humorous tone. It seemed that he often used it as a shield. It reminded Sansa in an unexpected way of Tyrion Lannister, the only member of this god-forsaken family she did not have a death wish over.

 

- You'll have to tell me more of these lands, my lord.

- Please, when we are just between us, call me Aegon. And yes, I will tell you all about Essos, but not before you show me Winterfell and its surroundings.”

 

The young woman nodded, a polite smile ornating her lips. Aegon Targaryen extended his arm, and as she took it, they both stepped outside, into the snow, into the sunlight.

 

 _ **-**_  

 

Sansa and Prince Aegon were now walking away from Winterfell and its newfound bustling life, a few Northerner guards and Unsullied trailing behind them. Both the Prince and their Lady walking side by side had attracted a lot of the workers and peasants contributing to the rebuilding of Winterfell. The castle had found its shining strength again, the thickness of the walls reinforced, its stones sticking together again, its towers straight and high, its flags transcending the snow and the wind, in its loins the spring sources bringing warmth to it all.

It was life again. And Sansa was responsible for most of it; at least she had accomplished this much. She’d felt so proud and powerful, showing all the nobility of the North and their resistance, but right now, they were headed towards the Godswood; Sansa grew more and more silent.

 

« I never suspected such a rich history of the North, and of the Stark household. We were always told that north of Westeros laid only barren lands and barbaric people.

 

Aegon Targaryen spoke with sincerity, his eyes when looking at her soft, contrasting to her his silver and red armour that made him shine as he walked amidst the snowy lands.

Internally, Sansa scoffed at his remark. Not because of him, as these were borrowed words of the Southern parts of Westeros, but because of how ironic it sounded; after the Long Night, the North was the strongest region out of all of them, and Sansa made sure both Targaryen royals knew it. Just because she had agreed to become the Warden of the North as the best way to protect the Stark legacy and her people, did not mean that all would be forgotten.

Yes, the Lady of Winterfell was wary of anyone that was not a Stark, but she would not hesitate, if need be, to take advantage of these Southern lords that were now having councils and heated discussions about where to find the money in order to rebuild their towns, their cities, their landscapes.

 

\- I hope that now you will be able, as the future king, to dissolve those beliefs after your stay here. But come hither, Prince Aegon, to the holy Weirwood Tree of Winterfell, spoke gracefully Sansa.”

 

The Lady of Winterfell turned back and motioned the guards accompanying them to stop here. No one could visit the Godswood with an audience.

Very soon, after a few minutes of walking amongst the thousand-year-old trees, the light weakening but silence reigning, both young people found themselves in front of the majestic Weirwood accompanied by a crystalline pond at its side.

Sansa contemplated the tree, and despite its bloody face, she looked it right in the eye. The young woman felt naked and watched, especially since she was here with a stranger. At this moment, she did not feel like Aegon Targaryen was Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, or her the Lady of Winterfell.

They were just two human beings, with damaged souls, hidden flaws, possibly black thoughts. Sansa did not know him at all beneath his crown.

The silence was becoming uneasy, too grave, and too many unspoken thoughts rang in the air, like the void she felt when she sent her soldiers and the Night Watch’s off to war against the Others.

 

«  It is an old faith that we worship here. Northerners do not believe in the Seven, as these gods do not rule our cold lands; every time I prayed in the Great Sept of Baelor when I was in King's Landing, nothing ever came to me. My only solace was the Godswood beneath the Red Keep. I do not know if the Old Gods answered my prayers, but eventually, I made it back home, spoke Sansa, her eyes still fixated on the tree, her posture straight and her jaw high.

 

That last part escaped her. She had not meant to touch upon her years as a hostage in King’s Landing, and the Lady of Winterfell had caught herself in the middle of it, quickly changing her sentence to divert the attention from that time where she was weak and feeble.

She felt the Prince turning towards her, and Sansa felt no judgment or calculations when she felt the weight of his gaze on her face.

 

\- I've only heard rumours of what happened to you in the capital, Sansa. And I am truly sorry you had to go through this.

 

His voice was so soft and so gentle, so earnest to soothe the painful memories she had in her head and that incessantly tried to hunt her sanity. However, the Lady of Winterfell hardened. Even though she knew the Prince would not pity her, she could not afford to seem weak ever again.

All her tormentors were dead now. Sansa had built for herself an image of strength, and it took her a long time to prove herself. She could not just throw that away in front of the future ruler of these lands.

 

\- If I had not been captive, I would not perhaps have acquired the experience I have, and I would not have become Lady of Winterfell. What happened happened and it is not in our way to dwell on the past.

 

The Prince chuckled silently and Sansa narrowed her eyes at him.

 

- Are you mocking me, perhaps, your Majesty? she asked, her tone icy, and her gaze piercing.

 

Aegon Targaryen looked right back at her, all trace of laughter gone, his purple irises burning with something strange. Admiration? Astonishment? Caution? Sansa did not know.

 

- Forgive me, Sansa. I just find it bewildering that you’d still believe in a type of divinity after what happened to you because of men, their lust for power and blood.

- Oh, my Prince, did I say I still believed in the Old Gods?

 

Sansa smiled at him in a quizzical way. There was a curiosity in Aegon Targaryen’s gaze, openness and empathy in his relaxed posture, but tension and frustration in his palms hugging his sword tightly.

 

- I am sorry if you were mistaken. I do not believe in the Old Gods; I believe in the North, in my people, in my values. It is what has brought me here. The Godswood is just a place on this earth, whether it is in Winterfell or more so in King’s Landing, that allows me to remind myself where I come from, who I am and where I strive to go. It is nothing more than a tool to release the weaknesses of my mind. But, saying that would be quite unorthodox for many people, Aegon.

 

The Lady of Winterfell had pronounced his name for the first time today.

Even though her words were harsh and strong, she had spoken in all honesty. Sansa, at times, had desperately wanted to believe in the Old Gods, and at times she did; now, she maintained a pious front for her people, but also for herself. She knew she would get no answer, no miracle from the abominable silence of the spaces that reigned in Westeros, but it still helped to deliver it all, thoughts naked and laid bare in the harsh snow and the millennial trees.

Sansa raised her eyes to him again, and she took everything in. His brow was not proud and noble like it usually was every time she saw him; his whole face had softened, and his eyes were cautiously searching her, but in the most gentle and soft manner. His full lips were slightly parted, taking low quantities of air in and out, as if for a just a minute he had not breathed.

 

\- I understand, he softly answered. I am so sorr-

- Why, just why do you keep apologizing?

 

Sansa had not meant to interrupt him. Her own voice had sounded too harsh, angry and trembling, but she could not refrain it. The young woman could feel the bile rising in her stomach and the tears piling up in her throat, and the only way she could try to refrain herself from crying and shouting was by biting her lip, digging into her palms, taking regular breaths and her eyes off him.

No one had ever apologized to her before. About what happened. No one really knew the extent of what they did to her, so how could they apologize? Everyone had lost something in this world, so how could they? Why would they?

 

- I am not pitying you, Sansa, replied Aegon.

 

A pause.

 

\- How could I? I would not even dare to let myself feel that, the silver-haired man continued.

 

He had gotten closer to Sansa now, his sword forgotten by the tree, his eyes desperately searching again her face, her gaze, her reaction like butterflies fluttering around a beautiful flower.

 

- You really are not a Rose, Sansa. How can people not see that the bravery and the resilience you hold within you is greater than one of a thousand armies?

 

Sansa’s head snapped back to him. Her gaze was piercing, cautious and angry - mostly at herself for letting her guard down.

 

- I may not have one of a thousand armies, but I might have had enough strength to become Lady of Winterfell. And that was just enough for me, your Majesty. It still is now, she replied her tone of steel, her articulation impeccable and her voice low. She sounded nothing like the person who walked into the Godswood with the Prince.

- Are you sure about that, Sansa? Because, what I am telling you here, there is no strategy, no ultimate goal behind it. I take back what I said; the most bewildering thing for me, is that still, by escaping from King’s Landing after terrible events unknown to everyone happened to you, by weaving your way into Winterfell and destroying your enemies from the inside, to then take power, survive the Long Night and keep the power into your hands whilst protecting your people and lands, you’ve still managed to fool everyone on the true strength you possess.

 

The way he looked at her was indescribable. It was just intense and wholly new. Yes, Sansa had fought her way through and had made for herself a worthy place in this world, but the veil between her and other people had considerably thickened and hardened. The loneliness and the non-acknowledgement of what she’d been through before being there suddenly came back to her crashing in waves.

She hated Aegon at that moment for making her feel that way because she’d managed to ignore that wall she’d put up. She’d managed to forget herself and who she’d been in the past because in the process of building her power she could not afford to do so. But now, she was there. She was at the top.

Yet, Aegon Targaryen was the only person who, despite being kept in the dark about past events, had managed to see right past her. It infuriated her.

But, right now, as he was standing so close to her, all his being leaning towards her, his indigo eyes attached to her soul and to her mouth, to her collarbones that her dress exposed where ugly scars could be seen, his beautiful, silver hair in the wind, he had recognised her strength.

 

- The world really has no idea… Aegon murmured, almost to himself, but always keeping his eyes on Sansa. He seemed troubled as he kept passing his hand through the strands of the Valyrian silver hair he possessed.

 

The Lady of Winterfell tried to colonise her own heart with dislike, even hate for the Prince.

 _You’ve been wasting my time,_ Sansa thought as she looked at him again, staying silent, _while you’re taking what’s mine with the things that you are saying._ He was indeed peeking through her walls, and Aegon had no right to take away this one defence of hers.

Yet, she did not see the point and she had no strength left to hate anyone anymore. So much for talking about strength; the young woman scoffed internally.

She stayed silent for a long time, and so did he. Sansa knew that this stillness pierced her soul as much as his.

 

\- You do not know me, Aegon. She spoke quietly and softly. However, I think you know more about me than I do about you. It is only fair that you’d tell me a bit about your life and your whereabouts.

 

As Sansa moved completely from the Weirwood tree and from the Prince, she sat down by the pond. Patiently, she waited for the Targaryen to come to join her, and he eventually did, gracefully sitting down on the tree log that acted as a bench.

Then, Aegon Targaryen turned his face to hers, being quite close, and smiled gently with a hint of mischief.

 

- Ask away, Sansa, he said, as he extended his arms wide and relaxed his posture again.

 

Her red, fiery hair shone brightly in the winter light and in the breeze of spring. Her gaze was piercing like a hawk’s. She hated the quietly ironic dimples of his smile, and how almond shaped his amethyst eyes were, how right now he was just who he was when she could not. Or was he really?

 

- It mustn't have been easy for you either, Aegon, wandering in Essos, all on your own for all these years.

 

The Prince cleared his throat.

 

- Well, it was a lonely and unjust time, without any family and the promise of a throne lying so far away. Though it was nothing compared to what you suffered, as I was free and discovered so much.

 

Sansa just flinched for a second, because she did not want to be reminded of it, and because he could not possibly have any idea. Not because her suffering was so great that it made her stand above everyone else’s, but simply because it was unknown. She’d never proclaimed it.

But her curiosity of Essos was greater at the moment.

 

- You promised to tell me about Essos. I've heard you spent a great deal of time in the Free Cities. Did you have a favourite, perhaps?

 

Sansa observed Aegon smiling at the mention of these foreign lands he’d spent most of his life in.

 

\- Well, it would be a tie between Braavos and Lys, even though I greatly enjoyed Volantis as well. Lys could be considered paradise on earth, but of course only if you possess money and power. The people there are very courteous and I dare say ugliness is rare on the island; beauty is everywhere and it's a gift to the eyes.

 

The Lady of Winterfell had read so much about Essos after the Long Night had ended, and had finally started to understand that the world and the game that was being played was so much bigger than she’d ever fathomed.

Sansa’s eyes were wide-opened now, fascination clear, hair left unruly by the boreal wind, the snow being blurred around her, only the Prince and his words ringing clear.

 

- Forgive me if I am too forward, Aegon. But the beauty of the Nightingale and the fame of the Black Pearl have even reached Westeros and the North. That is when you realise how truly big the world is.

 

Aegon now had that dreamy look of nostalgia etched on his face, and it had started snowing again. Snowflakes were gently falling on the two silhouettes slightly leaning towards one another, surrounded by the mystical shadows of trees.

 

- It certainly is. I've travelled as far as Qarth and to the western edge of Yi Ti, but not further. The Shadowlands are half-shrouded in legends, and further East lies a landmass no one knows about, but have only foreseen from the island of Ulos bathing in the Jade Sea.  And South also remains a continent that travellers and cartographers have named Sothoryos, where only its northernmost part is known.

 

Aegon’s tone was soft and slow, as if re-weaving his travel in his mouth and hand gestures miming the geography, hands looking so innocent right now, the hands of a little boy reaching for home and adventure.

Right now, to Sansa, everything that was not said was infinitely more powerful than the words they both uttered. You just had to use a bit of your imagination.

 

\- That is both incredible and scary. We are all truly very small in that world.

- One day you should go explore Essos, at least its Western part. If you think the beauty of their people exotic, then they will think twice as much of you. After all, Northern Westerosi ladies do not have much business with the Continent, replied Aegon, his smile earnest and vigorous, one hand now resting on his knee while supporting his cheek.

 

Sansa laughed at this thought, not because it was stupid, but because it was so incongruous. She’d never thought of travelling once in her life.

 

- That is a fantasy I would not dare imagine. And I am ruling the North now. I could _never_ abandon it.

 

The young woman had heavily insisted on the never, because her taking back Winterfell was unhoped for, and now that she’d found it again, she could never abandon it again, not like when she was a foolish girl of three-and-ten.

Yet, and for the first time in forever, she had this Prince in front of her, who had come from a world totally estranged from hers. Curiosity and wanderlust were two feelings that had not been present in her heart for a long time, but they were always overshadowed by duty.

 

- That is a shame, Sansa, for there is so much to see and marvel at in our world. I would very much like to witness the moment you will first lay eyes on Lys,  responded Aegon, his voice as soft as the snow falling around them, and his eyes had a strange gleam of them, the one of wanderlust too.

 

Sansa gave the Prince a swift glance full and round of sadness that danced amidst the flames of that blue ocean.

 

- I'm afraid I'll have to travel back to the capital in a few months' time.

 

Aegon quirked an eyebrow, straightening his back.

 

\- Why is that?

- I was hoping Lord Tyrion Lannister would have come with you and the Queen in order to annul our marriage. By the Seven we are still bound, and since he has not come, that means I will have to ride south sooner or later, said Sansa; she tried to hide her anxiety behind a flat, deferential tone yet her finger was twisting in rapid brushes one strand of hair.

 

It was too much stress to let herself think of riding south again, knowing that this tiring and long travel would bring her back to that city of nightmares; she’d made a promise _to herself_ that she would never set foot in it again. She could feel the anguish curling up like a ball in her throat, and the bile rising in her loins, engulfing her lungs.

Sansa and Aegon stared at each other for no more than five seconds, but that was already too much for the young woman. The deep gaze the Targaryen gave her screamed trust, but he was beautiful, powerful and changeful, and that made him dangerous, but here they were. The she-wolf, as she stood full of dignity and poise, broke the gaze and hated it.

 

- I understand how that visit might worry you so much, but you'll see that the Capital has much changed in a year. I am trying to make it as much a beautiful place as there ever was. Currently, I have ordered the construction of Water Gardens in the heart of the castle like the ones I have seen in Lys, and Sunspear to honour my mother. You might like them very much if you ever come, replied Aegon, breaking the short-lived silence, his voice sounding as alluring as a kept promise in its deep timbre and crystalline tones.

- I thank you for your kind attention, Aegon. It has eased my worries somewhat that I'll have somewhere safe to bathe within the castle, smiled the Lady of Winterfell, using her wits to break the intensity.

\- I'm glad I could assure that much safety. 

 

His response was not humorous, although Aegon had chuckled at her words. Sansa tried to decipher the hidden implications behind his clear tone, but it was just what it was: a sincere, heartfelt answer that ignored her attempts to break the atmosphere through a possible witty exchange.

Yet, as her thoughts raced, Sansa could hear in the distance the bells of Winterfell ringing with their heavy and solemn sound, which brought so much joy to her heart. The Lady of Winterfell rose from where she sat, dispersing the snow that had fallen on her dress with her slender, gloved hands. 

 

\- Well, Aegon, noon has struck at Winterfell. Sadly, there aren't any Water Gardens to bathe in here, but perhaps we could dine with the Queen and Jon, the young Stark woman declared, her tone formal but the hidden jest of her words making a small, corner smile appear on her lips.

 

Aegon looked up at her, puzzled and still sitting down by the pond. As he transfixed her, his smile grew bigger and bigger.

 

- There is the Spring source beneath the castle.

\- Well, in Northern fashion, we do not bathe without any clothes on. But please, use it at your leisure, replied immediately Sansa, knowing she had won this verbal joust.

 

As the snow grew heavier, the Prince's gaze became more intense as well. The Lady of Winterfell was justly that: a lady and not a little girl who'd blush at the slightest implications towards the body and the many pleasures that could be taken from and given it to it. To take control of her image, reshaping it, destroying it, playing with it, using it made her feel powerful, satisfied; that had no price. 

Sansa smiled earnestly, motioning him to rise and follow her out of the woods.

 

- Thank you, my lady. Aegon kissed her hand, leaving an imaginary burn on her pale skin. Well, you're right. We should probably head off towards the castle."

 

Above the snowy woods, dusk was falling upon Winterfell, the sky bleeding out, oranges and reds stemming from the sun and saturating the clouds, the atmosphere all around them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was sipping on my Starbucks strawberry black tea living my best basic white girl dream, and then I realised I had not posted here in more than 5 months.  
> My life has been hectic over the last months (literally I moved countries, from France to the UK so yeah that was a thing) and I have had literally zero time to write, but now that I'm finally settled down I viscerally needed to continue this story, hence chapter 3 delivered to you guys only now. But better late than never, am I right?  
> This story is really dear to me and it is something that I need to write for myself, even if no one sees this update. I can't say anything more because I do not want to influence anyone's outlook on this work. I'd rather have people see this story in their own way and experience it without being influenced by me, the author.
> 
> This chapter took the longest time to write, but I sincerely hope you'll enjoy it. I apologize in advance for the mistakes as this is not beta-read and English isn't my first language.  
> As always, everything belongs to George R.R. Martin.  
> Kudos and bookmarks are fucking awesome, but comments really make my day! Thank you to everyone who has commented on this story so far!  
> Then, I hope I'll post the fourth chapter in 3 weeks' time or in a month's time. Thank you so much for your patience, if anyone follows this story. I will finish it, no matter how long it takes!
> 
> See you on the next one hehe,  
> With all my love,  
> Lola
> 
> P-S: I've changed the spacing in the chapters and I think it looks much better like this. Also, listening to the music that I put and in the order in which I put the songs at the beginning really adds to the whole mood of the chapter that I want to communicate!


	4. Sansa IV

**Sansa IV**

 

_Bravado - Lorde_

_Swimming Pools - Troye Sivan_

_Solitude - Joanna_

 

The moon was shining bright, one lonely celestial body amongst all the bright stars, no trace of the red comet that had announced these dark events all those moons ago. It felt like forever to Sansa.

She was getting adorned for tonight’s feast, and the crackling fire was bringing warmth to her chambers. Her handmaiden Alerie was currently arranging the traditionally Lysene dress on the Lady of Winterfell. A gift from Queen Daenerys.

Sansa had to wear it, for diplomatic reasons, but it wouldn’t change who she was. It was just a dress.

 

“Alerie, bring the mirror here, commanded Sansa, pushing back her long hair that was let loose, except for one braid acting as a crown on her head, embedded in light crystals resembling snowflakes.”

 

Her handmaiden executed herself, bringing the big mirror right in front of Sansa, by the imposing fireplace.

The young woman scrutinized her reflection acutely; the dress was aerial, flowy, and of a pearly white colour. Her waist and breast were nipped tightly by ribbons of divine, white Lysene silk that were attached to the rest of the dress. The cleavage wasn’t provocative, but more showing than the solemn Northern dresses Sansa normally wore.

Her collarbones and the nasty, yet cicatrised scars did not look so terrible as exposed they were; the paler scarred flesh acted like a jewel amongst the heavenly white. Her legs and thighs were hidden by the flowy and loose part of the dress, silk and tulle mixing together to create a lovely blurred effect, with just enough fabric acting like a short train at the back.

The sleeves were hugging tightly her shoulders and upper arms, hiding the milky skin, but then, when they reached her lower arms, they flared outwardly into two separate trains of white.

Her red hair was a definite contrast to the dress, and her piercing blue eyes had been emphasized with charcoal infused powder in her inner eyes, evading slightly in an outer wing. Sansa Stark looked like she could move heaven, or raise hell.

 

Yet, she was not a child anymore, and her figure showed it; her breasts were full, and her hips, wide, the curve at her hips and on her lower belly real, and the whole world had taught her to be ashamed of that. In King’s Landing, she had been tortured for it, lusted after, put aside and taken back like a vulgar, rotting fruit because she’d grown from the flat and frail body of a child to the curvy one of a woman.

 

Right now, she hated what she saw. She hated what the world would see. Sansa could not bear to look at herself anymore, and with a quick movement of the head, motioned Alerie to take the mirror away.

 

“My lady, you look beautiful, said her handmaiden, after finally putting the mirror back on the opposite side of the room.

 

The Lady of Winterfell scoffed internally. Beauty was cruel; it could get you power but it could also get you killed. It could get you thousands of men fantasizing about you and thousands of women spitting at your feet. And when confronted with the beautiful, with the sublime in an absurd, grotesque world, it was almost an insult, a joke, another trick of life to Sansa.

 

\- Thank you, replied Sansa, in a cold voice, devoid of emotion. It is time, Alerie. Let us go to the feast. They must all be waiting.”

 

Alerie nodded, her green eyes sparkling with intelligence. Her handmaiden, also dressed in a much more modest gown for the occasion, opened the heavy wooden doors of her lady’s quarters. Sansa stepped out, flowing, angelic fabric trailing at her every move.

The Lady of Winterfell took a big breath in and started walking towards the Great Hall, the cheers of men and the loud music ringing louder and louder as her pace quickened.

The herald announced that the Lady of Winterfell had entered, and even though the music or the laughs did not stop, all eyes turned on her. Perhaps Sansa herself did not notice it or believe it, but in this instant, she was quite possibly the most beautiful woman in the room. Queen Daenerys had surely an otherworldly beauty, but it was completely out of reach and shrouded by the authority she wielded. The Manderly ladies were surely appealing, and less icy, but they did not carry themselves with relentless poise.

Sansa Stark ignored all these stares and bowed deeply first to the Queen, and then to the Prince, her face expressionless. As the Lady of Winterfell rose, she could feel a burning stare on her face and neckline; it was much different than all the other hundreds of pairs of eyes on her. It went through her soul, like a quick and swift dagger. Before she could hold herself back, Sansa looks up to see deep indigo eyes staring at her; Prince Aegon broke the eye contact and she could see his eyes trailing on the fabric of her dress.

 

He had probably identified the provenance of the fabric, as the lazy smile on his face attested.

 

  
The young woman climbs up on the main table and sits right next to Jon, who was deep in conversation with Queen Daenerys; on the other hand, Prince Aegon was silent whereas conversations were booming in the Great Hall.

As Sansa straightens her back, feeling her luscious hair graze her entire back, the Queen rises, a cup full of wine in her right hand.

 

“Let us have some music from Lys, a Free City in Essos, particularly affectioned by the Prince. Good Northerners, I hope you will enjoy this bout of exoticism brought into Winterfell, she declared, in a regal tone but the jovial atmosphere was felt in her voice as well as the sparkle in her icy irises.”

 

Queen Daenerys immediately asked her nephew to dance with her on this music, where they opened the ball; as the two Targaryens started to graciously dance, something started lurking in Sansa's stomach that she did not like at all. Instinctively, she turned towards Jon, her half-brother smiling and extending her arm to help her get access to the dancing space, and they went after the Targaryen royals.

Jon’s face was again serious and grave, and in a time of feast and banquet, this would not do at all. Sansa frowned at her half-brother, clearly indicating him to speak what was on his mind, as more and more nobles joined the dance.

 

"What is that dress, dear sister? Made of Lysene silk? I have never seen it, but you do look beautiful in it.

 

 _What is this?_ thought Sansa, growing more and more annoyed by the minute.

 

Usually, Jon was blunt and went straight to the point, if something bothered him. He had the frankness of their father, and perhaps the indifferent cruelty of Sansa’s mother had forged his closed off and taciturn character, but it also drove him to mimic or absorb more and more Eddard Stark’s own traits.

It was unfair, thought Sansa, that Jon had to emphasize and prove himself a thousand times more as a child of the North.

 

\- Thank you, she replied curtly. It was a gift from the Queen, and I think a change from the stern, winter dresses is quite welcome; especially with spring right around the corner.

 

Sansa spun around quite fast, her hair looking like dancing flames until she was steadied by Jon’s hand on her waist.

 

- A coincidence the Prince seems to enjoy many items coming from Lys, declared Jon, his tone unusually wary.

-  What are you insinuating, Jon? the annoyance was palpable in her voice.

- Are you trying to seduce him? What are you expecting of him? At best you could hope to be a royal mistress!

 

Her half-brother whispered those words fast, caution and a tinge of anger clear in his dark tone. Sansa did not understand how such a reaction could have been provoked by the simple fact of wearing a dress that was offered as a sign of diplomacy and approval.

Up to this point, Jon had been quite positive to the venue of the Dragon monarchs, despite his childish and unjustified tensions with the Prince. Never had she sensed in Jon nervousness as if he was looking out for some danger lurking in the air, not until this point.

 

The Lady of Winterfell, as she came back to Jon, the melody of the music sounding much more sensual than a few minutes ago, guessed the reasoning behind Jon’s words.

 

- Honestly, how could you even think I have the will and power to seduce the Prince by wearing a dress that - she spun back and then returned to Jon just as fast - happens to be made of a fabric originating in a city that he lived in years ago? Also, might I mention, it was a gift!

 

The Lord Commander of the Wall still had a dark look in his face, and as his sister spun again, it seemed like he could not muster anything else to say.

 

- Jon, it was a gift from Queen Daenerys! Not wearing it during their time in Winterfell would have not been well received! frantically whispered Sansa, her brows furrowed in a worrisome manner.

- So, you’re doing this for the stability of House Stark and the North, I presume? These are your only, noble interests at play here? muttered her half-brother.

 

The music kept on going, and they kept on dancing, but inside Sansa was shocked; never had Jon put into question her choices and loyalty, not even during the darkest hours this world had ever known. The Long Night truly had changed everyone, even the people Sansa kept closest to her heart.

However, she could not let her brother’s trust slip away, much less having him question her power and authority. As she came back towards him after yet another spin, her gaze was of ice and steel.

 

- I can’t have you question my motives and my loyalty. Not now, Jon. Not after everything we’ve been through together, not after the Winterfell we’ve built!

 

Tears were pooling in Sansa’s throat, but she kept them at bay. It just hurt her the most because it came from Jon, whom she believed the only member of the Stark family alive before finding Bran and Rickon. The last few years they’d fought every battle together and they crushed all their enemies one by one: the Boltons and that abomination of a man Ramsay Snow, Lord Baelish and finally the White Walkers.

The dance ended, and soon the Queen and the Prince went back to their seats. New music started again, but Sansa did not have it in her heart to dance anymore. Discreetly, she tugged at Jon’s sleeve and pulled him aside of the Great Hall.

 

- Let us go somewhere more private to talk, announced Sansa, her tone sounding more like a command than a suggestion.

 

As Jon was about to protest, Sansa stopped him.

 

- Your lady commands it, declared the she-wolf, tired of her half-brother never listening to what she had to say.”

 

Finding an empty and unoccupied room near the kitchens of Winterfell, Sansa closed the door quietly behind her and then sized her half-brother.

Dark, brooding, his jet-black curls even more prominent than in his teenage years. He was a man, strongly built, and yet the small scars on his face, the callousness of his hands, the dark circles beneath his grey-blue eyes, the sword Long Claw always by his side indicated the warrior that he was and the countless battles he’d fought, the blood he’d spilt, the immense fatigue he carried on his shoulders after the Long Night had ended.

Sansa sighed, and got closer to her half-brother; her expression was not guarded anymore, worry and affection written on her traits.

 

“ Jon, I do not know what has happened for you to treat me this way. I don’t understand why you would doubt my loyalty to House Stark, because it is the only thing left in this world that I am fighting for and willing to die for. For our legacy, for our family, dead and alive.

 

The young woman would have wanted to be immutable, cold and regal while saying these words to Jon, but she could not. After all, Sansa was still human, and she had bottled up these emotions for too long; her voice was trembling with tears but the Lady of Winterfell was not sad. She almost sounded angry, a deep rage like a fire coating each and every single one of her words.

The brooding man, on the other hand, remained silent, and his eyes would not meet his sister’s.

 

- For most of my life, I have been at war, and I have been fighting it with the best of my abilities - criticise me all you want, for having been a stupid girl believing in stupid dreams - but I have changed. I am a slow learner, but I learn. If you are worried about me falling into a trap again, by whatever nonsense you’re thinking of - me being seduced by the Targaryen monarchs - let me reassure you, brother. I am a Stark first and foremost, and Winterfell is my home. I know where my place is, and my head is on my shoulders.

 

Dancing lights could be seen in Sansa’s eyes, and her voice had rung clear, full of emotions, charged with unsaid words. She was desperately trying to get Jon to finally look at her, to take in the truth of her words.

As her half-brother finally met her eyes, Sansa was surprised by what she saw - there was no hostility or suspicion, but rather sadness, and guilt. That last emotion surprised her - did it explain the weird way Jon had lashed out at her? Was he projecting something onto her, something that made him question his integrity and loyalty to House Stark?

Many feelings were squeezing the Lady of Winterfell’s heart. She had a deep desire to take her older half-brother into her arms, to reassure him but to also feel reassured - for a few years, they’d been the last wolves standing amidst ashes and corpses. Ever since she’d rode North after the death of her second husband Harrold Hardyng, ever since she’d won the Battle of the Bastards for Jon - they’d been each other’s only family, each other’s only memories of what paradise once felt like.

 

- It really is in your bloodstream… to rule, replied Jon, the quieter she’d ever heard him.

 

There was a long silence. No need for acknowledgement - Sansa knew that the Lord Commander was sincere and the storm in his eyes had dissipated.

 

- I know your strengths, Sansa - my worries do not lie there. I just worry about how your weaknesses might be exploited by the Prince. You’ve always liked pretty things.

 

Jon’s brooding and cold anger were gone but the worry that was so present in his voice was surprising. The red-headed Stark could observe her half-brother nervously running his fingers through his dark locks, and anger overtook her at this last statement; however, instead of lashing out, she condensed this anger - fury hidden in the depths of her loins and of her blue eyes - into a few words.

 

- Trust me - the Prince isn’t that pretty if you look closely.

- What is that supposed to mean?

- That means that never again will another Joffrey approach me.

 

There was a huge silence that took up all the space in the small room they were in, as well as in Sansa’s heart - despite her gaze being firmly held high. She hoped Jon knew what she meant by those words.

Ever since they’d seen each other again as the Long Night was dawning on them, Jon had wanted to protect her. The young Stark woman knew her brother could protect her from a man trying to kill her with a sword, could save her in a battle by the clash of armours or could kill anyone who’d dare hold a dagger against her throat or point a finger to her face. However, he could never protect her from mind games, from the power of words, of money and of the mind, from the power of power; he could never protect her from her own mind, which had become her most prized weapon, deadly against others but also fatal against herself.

 

- If Prince Aegon is even one bit like Joffrey… Jon was clenching his teeth really hard and the fury he felt made his voice tremble and rumble. You just have to tell me, Sansa. You don’t even have to say one word - one look and I-

 

A sudden and very deep sadness invaded the red-headed woman.

 

- What could you even do? scoffed Sansa. I never said he was like Joffrey. I meant that he is as dangerous as him, even more so than Joffrey ever was, because the Prince is possibly the most powerful person in all of the Seven Kingdoms.

 

Sansa Stark never felt quite as lonely as in this moment, talking with one of the people closest to her, in a small, empty, ramshackle lost in the castle of Winterfell.

These were times of peace and spring, yet the young woman never felt so mercurial and her life never felt as nebulous.

 

- Very well, replied Jon, his voice quiet and yet more sombre than when the conversation started. Just don’t get too close, because you would not even gain anything from it.

 

This statement startled the Lady of Winterfell, who swiftly turned her blue gaze back to her half-brother’s face, trying to decipher the muted expression on his face.

 

- Even if my strategy was to get close to him, would I not gain a minimum of power? Influence? More respect? If I was that ambitious - or stupid?

- There are rumours he might get engaged to Margaery Tyrell.

 

It all went very fast and Jon said those words very suddenly as if he wanted to break some eagerness, some dream within the little girl that she was.

These words should have been insignificant and of no effect to Sansa; women got married all the time, and it was their only way to harness power or to be of whatever aid to their family. Yet, these facts were so random, so misplaced and at the same time to be expected.

 

Margaery would still want to be Queen, even after what had happened to everyone, and Sansa probably did not know half of what had happened in the Reach. After all this time, she’d still want to be Queen? That raw, gaping and never-ending ambition continued to live in her friend’s soul if the Lady of Winterfell could call the Tyrell rose that.

Sansa felt some strange bitterness clawing at her throat. She steeled herself again.

 

- Since when do you pay attention to rumours? replied acidly the young Stark woman, not meeting her half-brother’s eyes. Ever since the Targaryens have come to Winterfell, I have heard plenty of senseless rumours about both the Queen and the Prince.

 

Jon eyed her worryingly, his posture much less tense now - his stocky silhouette all slouched, almost resigned. Yet, he too couldn’t quite meet her eye frankly.

 

- Just know that she is an option, and surely one of his best, alongside the Princess of Dorne.

- The dangerous Arianne Martell - both beautiful women and from powerful families who are reaping the most benefits from the royal favour. I can see why they’d both be good choices for the Prince to marry. Don’t worry, dear brother. This is just another game played by the Martells and the Tyrells to sit on the Iron Throne. We should be used to it by now.

 

Sansa spoke harshly and could not hide the bitterness in her voice and eyes in front of Jon. She felt immensely tired and her heart felt too heavy for her body. The atmosphere of the room had turned now to tranquil silence, the conversation having toned down - Sansa knew her half-brother agreed with her and shared her frustration of seeing powerful families starting another power game when not everyone, not even themselves, had fully recovered from war, from chaos, from death, from the last one.

 

- You should go back to the feast, Jon. Enjoy some more of that exquisite Lysene music, suddenly said Sansa, a slight smirk appearing at the corner of her lips.

 

He chuckled softly.

 

 **-** What about you? You’re not coming back?

- I will - I am just going to get some fresh air as this dress is starting to get a little tight.

- Very well. I will see you then.”

 

Jon stood up again, his black curls bouncing lightly at his every step. As he stepped out of that room, he sent Sansa a kind look, one that fathomed itself reassuring, his strong hand gripping her shoulder, a kind touch that fathomed itself like a stronghold, anchoring her in the earth.

She smiled back at him with her eyes, and then he was gone, only the whispering wind left behind by his sudden movement and the door closing.

 

Sansa looked up at the only window present in that cramped room, so small and only giving into a small portion of the starry sky. A trail of smoke could be reached by the young woman’s eyes, surely emitted by one of Winterfell’s many chimneys. As her eyes fluttered, their blue desperately merging with the sky’s, butterfly stars glittering in her irises, loneliness caressed her throat and lips as she drew a long breath in the cold air - smoke escaping.

Out of nowhere, tears streamed on her ivory cheeks and of her eyes of steel; but these were not silent ones. The pain shook her to the core as she started shaking, slowly sitting down on the cold, dirty ground. Sansa did not even know for what or whom she was still sobbing for, and her sadness knew no temporal bounds; the young woman did not know if it was a sadness for the past or present, and the future scared her deeply.

Perhaps she wept for the entirety of her family, whether they were alive or dead; perhaps she wept for herself, for the pain she’d endured in King’s Landing and in the Eyrie, or for how stupid and how much of slow learner she’d been, or for how she could not shake off that feeling of immutable loneliness and sadness;  perhaps she wept for the whole world and how the human laws and wants governing it were so alienating and so cruel.

Grief and loneliness took Sansa in their arms, just like every other day, whether she was dressed as the Lady of Winterfell, or in her nightgown amongst crumpled sheets; whether she was speaking to an assembly of men or to absent gods.

When Sansa had stopped crying for a moment, she looked up to that one lonely window; the moon was shining bright, and it was big, its light illuminating Sansa’s eyes. It reminded her of the colour of Aegon's hair. Another pang of pain exploded in her abdomen and throat.

 

She shook her head as if to physically shake that thought out of her, and focused on the smoke rising up to the sky. Sansa did not know how, but there was a glimmer of hope within her, like that exhale of smoke in the limitless sky.

 

-

 _(a week after)_ **_  
_ **

 

As usual, the sun was hiding beneath heavy, grey northern clouds that rolled along and married perfectly the curves of these snowy hills Sansa knew all too well.

Time was ticking slowly for her; it had been for the past week. She’d accomplished all her duties as Lady of Winterfell and had gone on many horse rides with Queen Daenerys, but she’d - as discreetly as she could - been avoiding Prince Aegon.

It was hard considering the positive outlook Sansa began to have on the young man, as his personality was most agreeable; he was nothing like Joffrey. It made it even harder to be this cold and furthered the cumbersome loneliness the young woman had been a prisoner of. She felt as if she was a ghost in her own life.

 

Today was windy, too; the Lady of Winterfell, sat by the biggest window in her solar, scrutinized the horizon with an eagle-like, piercing blue stare. The clouds were moving so fast in the sky, projecting fragments of shadow and light upon the snow and the very few budding green shots announcing the end of winter.

 

She remembered when Aegon had told her about Essos, about the Free Cities and the most unknown corners of this world. He’d opened a door in the she-wolf’s mind and now she fancied herself on a fleet, discovering unknown seas, unknown cities and unknown rulers. It stunned Sansa to even think in such big dimensions, and every single time she had to focus back on Winterfell and the North; the only bouts of territory that should matter to her. And they did. They mattered _the most._

However, her mind, the complex yet treacherous thing it was, always came back to this fantasy of travelling, and every single time Aegon Targaryen was by her side, guiding her through the world, initiating her to all its wonders, most of them unknown to her; she was solely intimate with its horrors. She pushed back those thoughts deep within her; they only came back late at night after having been denied for so long.

 

Therefore, all week, Sansa Stark had illuminated the walls of Winterfell as its lady, as a gracious host to the Queen, and as its loneliest spirit - no one could even see her in her darkest times.

 

_I can’t stay there cooped up. I can’t be alone; I need to leave this room. Should I go see Bran? See how he is doing, with those visions that ferment in his brain? Or Rickon, if he even wants to see me? To see how his lessons are coming along, and if he’s calmed down?_

 

Sansa was pondering on her decision, pacing to-and-fro in her solar, when she heard a knock on her door.

 

“ Come in.

- My lady, the Queen wishes to see you in her chambers.

 

Her most trusted handmaiden Alerie had timidly halfway opened the door, her striking green eyes scintillating in the late afternoon’s dusky light.

 

- Alone, I presume? Sansa pursed her lips. _At least now, I have an occupation where I might prove useful._

- Yes, my lady.

- Did the Queen add anything else?

- No; it was her confidante Missandei that fetched me, my lady.

\- Very well. Alerie, tell me, is tonight’s feast almost ready?

\- Last I checked, everyone was on time. You needn’t worry, my lady. The household has been well managed by you.

 

Sansa nods at her words and gives her handmaiden a small, but earnest smile. She believed her household staff, despite not being noble, should always be treated with respect; titles or not, riches or not, the Lady of Winterfell was intelligent enough to know that in death it would not matter. They were all humans and one’s bones would not be nobler than another’s.

 

- Thank you. Go ahead and tell Missandei that I am on my way.

- Very well, my lady.”

 

As Alerie closed the door and her rapid footsteps could be heard clacking on Winterfell’s ancient stone floor, the young Stark woman wondered why the Queen would want to see her - especially considering the intimate setting suggested by the suddenness of the Targaryen’s summon.

However, it only took a few seconds for a conclusion to come to Sansa. Her complexion got a tinge paler and her eyes filled with worry; the Lady of Winterfell was never one to underestimate and she knew Daenerys Stormborn astute enough to have noticed how distant she’d been with her nephew. It also contrasted with Sansa’s kindness and eagerness to spend time with Aegon in the first week of their arrival in Winterfell.

The Lady of Winterfell walked the walls of her home quickly, as passing servants curtsied at her sight. She reached the Queen’s quarters soon enough, two Unsullied guarding her door. Sansa could not help but entertain the thought that the Prince’s bedchambers were very close; a rosy tint coloured her cheeks, which could easily pass for the remaining cold biting at her fair skin.

The two guards let her through the door, and she was welcomed by Missandei’s dark, pretty and clever face.

 

“My lady, the Queen is expecting you, announced the Naathi, lowering at Sansa’s venue.”

 

The Lady of Winterfell smiles at the Queen’s confidante and walks in the intimate quarters and the most spacious ones that the former had made sure to prepare for Daenerys Stormborn.

True to her name, the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms is by her vanity mirror, her endless mane of beautiful silver and white let loose, not twisted into some impossible hairstyle. She is merely wearing a winter dress crafted by Myrish and Lysene seamstresses, all scarlet, embroidered dragons in gold and precious fabrics of vibrant greens and blues all over her bust and skirts.

Missandei, in a calm, measured step, goes back to the Queen’s side and starts brushing her long hair very carefully, as if treading silk between her hands. Daenerys Stormborn’s eyes are still fixated on her reflection in the mirror, and with one gesture of the hand, beckons a servant to bring a chair next to her.

 

The Dragon Queen oozes power, even in such a mundane and intimate setting.

 

“ Sit by me, Lady Sansa.

 

The she-wolf gracefully curtsies.

 

- Your Majesty.

 

Sansa sits down, her heavy blue dress elegantly sprawled on the ground like a river; this dress always reminded the young woman of her mother - Catelyn Stark had been a Tully of Riverrun before marrying her father. That shade of blue was the same arbored on the flags of the Tully army and amidst the towers of Riverrun; it complimented Sansa’s own blue eyes, that she got from her mother.

 

- How are you faring these days? asks Queen Daenerys, in a quizzical tone.

 

 _Does she think I’m ill?_ mused Sansa. Her distance with Prince Aegon seemed to have unsettled the Dragon Queen, whose purple eyes flickered between her reflection and the Stark lady.

 

- Well, I've been faring well, your Grace. Thank you for your concern, replied Sansa, using a reassuring tone in order not to worry the Queen and show a loyal front.

 

Daenerys Stormborn’s face exhibited now a frown, and with another sharp gesture of the hand, motioned Missandei to stop brushing her hair. Her whole, undivided attention was on Sansa now, the Targaryen purple gelids engulfing her with a fiery stare.

 

- Why have you been so deliberately distant from my nephew? You are not fulfilling the role of a graceful host.

 

The Queen’s voice was sharp and severe, acting like a whip in a silent room where only the crackling fire was to be heard.  If Sansa had still been a frightened little girl in the face of powerful women such as Cersei Lannister once had been, she would have held her head low and accepted whatever sermon or punishment was coming at her.

Even though this Queen’s voice was booming, the Lady of Winterfell held her head, her chin and her gaze high, her back straight, but she made sure her posture nor her words would be defiant. In a small corner of her head, Sansa Stark knew that this was a new rule and era dawning upon them: that Dragon rule had just returned and had no strong base of loyalty, and could easily if suspected of treason, burn her at the fires of dragons or green lights.

 

- I apologise, your Majesty. My health has not been the best recently, and I've had the need to rest quite frequently during the day or to isolate myself in the Godswood.

- Has Aegon done anything to displease you, Lady Sansa? Rest assured, you can be frank with me, directly answered the Queen, her eyes unwavering and scanning Sansa’s face.

 

 _He hasn’t, truly,_ thought Sansa. _Although I wish he had._

She smiled to the Queen and gave her an earnest smile as another lie escaped from her mouth.

 

- Oh no, he has not at all, your Grace. He is as sovereign a prince as there ever was. I have appreciated his company.

 

Something twinkled in Daenerys Stormborn’s eyes.

 

- Good. Because he has greatly appreciated yours as well. It surprises me how well he has got on with you, Lady Sansa, the Rose of the North, as they call you.

 

Sansa smiles knowingly at this nickname.

 

- Even the beauty and wit of Margaery Tyrell or the fantasies of the Princess of Dorne could not interest him as your simple presence did.

 

Sansa could not hide the blush flushing her cheeks and she wondered at how fast her heart was beating. Yet, she remained proud and her back still stood straight, even when she lowered her head in gratitude at the compliment.

 _Surely a jest_ , she thought, unable to take it in.

 

- That is too much of an honour, your Majesty. Isn't he planning on marrying Lady Tyrell?

 

The Queen scoffs.

 

- Where have you gained such information?

 

 _So these rumours haven’t spread_ , remarked Sansa. _I wonder where Jon heard them. Strange._

Especially seeing the Queen’s idle and uncanny reaction, the Lady of Winterfell arched her brows and an odd feeling spread through her.

 

- I thought you knew, your Majesty. Rumours are going around that the Prince could not resist the charms of Lady Margaery.

- These must be simple rumours started by simple men, Lady Sansa. After all, words are wind. But thank you for making me aware of them.

 

Despite the Queen’s polite tone, Sansa could decipher, behind those glacial gelids that she imagined could only mirror the infinite waves of the Shivering Sea, annoyance and a certain jest at Northerners - calling them simple men.

The Lady of Winterfell could only let slide this comment - not that she could. In these times, she had to. Instead, Sansa fixated the Queen, took in the gold gaze and smiled warmly in the disappearing winter.

 

- I am curious as to know if these rumours are well founded because Margaery herself has not told me anything.

 

Missandei kept brushing her Queen’s hair when Daenerys Stormborn stopped her with a sharp movement of the hand. The sovereign woman rose, pacing the room intently until she stopped to look through the imposing window overlooking the Northern hills, similar in size to the one in Sansa’s solar.

 

- The Queen of Thorns is trying to seep her claws into my family, the Targaryen declared, her tone icy but laced with anger. Lady Margaery has been Queen three times, to Renly Baratheon, Joffrey Waters and Tommen Waters. She cannot be Queen a fourth time.  I cannot forbid Aegon to choose whoever he pleases as his wife, but I can heavily influence his choice. I will not push for Margaery Tyrell to be queen after me.

 

  
The Queen did not answer Sansa's question directly, but the Stark lady cannot make her demand obvious as that would humiliate her, make her look presumptuous.

The wheel keeps on turning, again and again, and Sansa is despaired by it. She had, again, the naivety to think the Long Night would put an end to these machinations of powers and to these plots; she thought it would help low men just like men who thought they were gods to make the most of life, of pleasure. But perhaps, that was it, this pleasure; grasping more and more power, climbing that ladder of chaos that Petyr Baelish had so eloquently introduced her to, running her fingers in the essence of power itself - along the sharpened blades of the Iron Throne, along the barrels of wildfire left after the battle of the Blackwater Bay, along the strands of golden, Lannister hair of the Queen Regent that had disappeared back into ashes - when she bid her _little dove_ toact as a handmaiden.

Nothing made Sansa more joyful than to think that nothing lasts forever, and nothing made her sadder to observe that everybody in this world wanted to rule it - whatever piece they could get their hands onto. Daenerys and Aegon were no different. _She_ was no different.

 

Instead, to distract herself from these grim thoughts, Sansa wonders at what happened that day where instead she ventured with the Prince in the Godswood. Jon had brought the Queen to Bran, to discuss these visions of his - they had helped tremendously during the Long Night, predicting the outcomes of hypothetical battles, scouting the army of the dead.

At the greatest battle in the North, the decisive victory had been Bran’s; warging into the mind of Viserion, into one of the Dragon Queen’s children. People were scared of him now; some thought he was a god or a prophet, others a demon.

 

- Your Majesty... have you found anything interesting concerning Bran's visions? After all, they had predicted the Long Night and the death of Stannis Baratheon as well.

 

The Queen gets more and more sombre, just as the dim light of the Northern afternoon becomes darker.  Sansa’s eyes become more focused on the expression of Daenerys Stormborn’s face.

 

- I do not know what it can mean, but, if we may speak in confidence, Lady Sansa, which I hope we can, adds the Queen, looking straight into the she-wolf’s eyes with a deadly stare, it strangely reminds me of the prophecy my brother Rhaegar had in mind. The dragon must have three heads, for the Prince that was promised will come. That was what your younger brother told me he heard in his dreams, as he saw one dragon with fire in his eyes, one other with the earth surmounted by a crown, and the last one with ice in his eyes.

 

The atmosphere grew a tinge sadder at the mention of Rhaegar, Missandei throwing an empathetic look to her Queen. Sansa noticed that small turn of expression, yet remained puzzled at the mention of that obscure prophecy.

 

- I do not understand, your Majesty. I have heard this prophecy plenty of times. Many thought in the South that Renly Baratheon was the rightful prince promised to greatness, then that priestess proclaimed Lord Stannis as Azor Ahai. But, they both died. Jon told me that he believed Maester Aemon the most, who said that it had to be a lost Targaryen - but that the gender was fluid. He believed you were the Prince that was promised, and so does Jon and many others.

 

Silence installs itself in the room, the Queen first locking her hard gaze on Sansa, as if to try her, to then sigh and beckon Missandei to brush her hair again. The Naathi, warily looking at the Lady of Winterfell, executes herself, her movements softer than before.

 

- But not you, Lady Stark. The Queen breaks the silence and turns her once-again hard gaze on Sansa, her lips pursed.

 

The Lady of Winterfell knew she was treading into dangerous territory, and that if she was not careful, could say something treacherous about the Targaryens who had re-established themselves in the Seven Kingdoms.

Sansa looked the Queen right back in the eye and hoped her gaze of ice would be harsher than the latter’s gaze of hard, cold fire.

 

- I don’t believe in promises, your Grace.

 

Silence, once again.

 

- Not anymore, quietly added Sansa.

 

The weight of her words carried across the room, across the silence, across the hills and the winds outside battling against the walls of Winterfell.

Daenerys Targaryen gave Sansa Stark a long look, less harsh, almost empathetic.

 

- Yet your brother has seen that the prophecy has not yet been accomplished. My nephew, the last lost Targaryen, and I conquered Westeros, him riding Rhaegal, me Drogon, and Viserion flying by our side, unmounted, said the Queen, breaking the silence.

 

Sansa could feel that the Queen was going to continue her train of thought, and so waited patiently for her to continue. Talking - and talking well - was a skill she’d mastered, her learning starting as soon as the tender age of three-and-ten, but listening was also incredibly important, Sansa discovered.

 

- I thought: it cannot be! A third Targaryen, alive? Is this meant for me to try and search Rhaenys? It seemed a crazy thought for a while, but I started to doubt its folly; but maybe, maybe she is still alive, maybe that useless dog Clegane did not smash her skull after he finished the deed on Princess Elia, continued the Dragon Queen, her face distorted in anger and disgust, tension visible in her delicate hands and wrists.

- Your Majesty, you must calm yourself! It is not good to get agitated over chimaeras of the past, intervened immediately Missandei, her tone laced with worry, her hands on the Queen’s shoulder to steady her, as if to bring her back to earth, to the present moment.

 

 _They must be close_ , thought Sansa. _Ever since Astapor._

Daenerys turned around to face Missandei, her expression calmer, but an uneasy fire seemed to burn in her eyes.

 

- Aegon was one, Missandei. And look at him now. A strong, handsome prince, in age to choose a wife and who will continue the dynasty, explained the silver-haired Queen, turning back around to this time face Sansa, who had not budged. I will send a discreet search party for Rhaenys, in Essos, and one other in Westeros. Even if it takes years, I will find her.

 

That last part heavily worried Sansa. All she wished for was peace, as the North had suffered too much and for too many years. Having the person sitting on the Iron Throne worrying about bygones and obscure prophecies would not mean anything good.

Sansa cleared her throat, her blue eyes fretting worriedly between Missandei and silver-haired Daenerys Stormborn.

 

- Your Grace, you must not fret over such a prophecy that drove your brother to obsession and ultimately... death. You must not make the same mistakes as him, for you are wiser today, if I may speak in all honesty, replied the Lady of Winterfell with a loud and clear voice, intently looking at the Queen. You need to focus on the Seven Kingdoms and you cannot let yourself be deviated from that, much less Aegon. Stability is needed more than ever. If sending a search party can ease your mind and help you rule better, then so be it and go through with it. If on the contrary, it is another worry of yours, maybe you should let it be.

- The Lady Sansa is right, your Grace. _Valar dohaeris_ , added quietly Missandei, who had put the brush down by the mirror and was now intricately braiding her Queen’s hair; in a Meereenese fashion, it seemed, if Sansa saw right. The Naathi sent the Northern lady a quick, kind glance.

 

Daenerys Stormborn sighed and directed her glance towards Sansa. It was hot with worry, rage and power, and her posture was more queenly than mundane.

 

- All men must serve, yes, boomed the Targaryen’s voice. I will do my duty as Queen. I am _not_ my father. However, I need to at least take action according to the prophecy. I will not be able to sleep at night knowing that I am doing nothing to retrieve the last Targaryen, lost in the world on his or her own.

 

Sansa looked at the Queen softly. It seemed that the monarch bore love for her late brother and the Lady of Winterfell could not imagine how heartbreaking it’d be, growing up without a family. But at least, it’d make one harsher, with fewer weaknesses.

 

- I understand, your Grace, she replied, softly.

- Of course, Lady Sansa, you would understand, out of all people. You see, I never knew Rhaegar, but I still love him with all my heart in death, even more, cruelly, than Viserys, whom I stayed with all these years in exile. He is, truth be told, the ineffable dream some are trying to seduce and others to attain. His grace and strength knew no bounds.

 

Missandei continued to braid the Queen's hair, while Sansa nodded, indicating she was listening. Daenerys had that dreamy look on her face, blurred with sadness and longing for a family - it was Sansa who pitied the Queen in this instant, although she did not show it. Mayhaps the former had suffered her family being torn apart, having all her weaknesses exploited, but she’d known bliss and safety in her childhood days at Winterfell; even if, today, thinking of these times tugged at her throat more than anything else.

 

- I know of the saying: madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. When a Targaryen is born, the Gods flip a coin, and the whole world holds its breath. Rhaegar incarnated greatness, but he was born in madness, lived through it and that killed him, continued Daenerys Stormborn, her voice exhibiting a faint tremor of sorrow. Viserys was delusional, violent and the madness sprouted, leaving me. Perhaps it is good that my father is no more, as shocking as it may sound. When I was so much younger and foolish, I would have taken offence if anyone spoke ill of King Aerys. Today, I realise that mayhaps the Seven Kingdoms are better without him, and so am I. Rhaegar, however, cruelly lacks. This prophecy is also about honouring his memory.

 

Sansa knew it was a big step for Daenerys to admit this; when the Queen had come to Winterfell for the first time during the beginning of the Long Night, alone with her army and her dragons Drogon and Viserion, Aegon being in Highgarden with Rhaegal, anyone who spoke ill of the Mad King would attract her fires and flashes of lightning.

Yet, Aegon was living, while Rhaegar was dead.

 

- It is honourable, your Grace, that you wish to fulfil your brother's desires. However, the dead are dead. I loved Robb too, replied Sansa, her voice mirroring the sadness of the Queen’s - perhaps almost breaking -, and I had the chance of knowing him, and perhaps he was not as great as Rhaegar, but he fulfilled the description of the young, heroic lord who could bring glory and peace to the Kingdoms. Yet, he died, because he was stupid enough to marry Jeyne Westerling, and blinded by his heart and his innermost desires that the shouts of "King in the North!" pumped in his blood. It is not good to idolise the dead, your Grace. We are alive and first, we live, and rule.

 

Missandei paused her braiding motion, smiled at Sansa and looked down at the Queen in a sisterly way. Daenerys was deep in thought, but when she looked back up to meet Sansa’s eyes, all coldness and harshness had disappeared from her eyes, the first time since she had ridden to Winterfell on Drogon’s back. The Lady of Winterfell almost thought that the Queen’s eyes screamed " _Was it hard to say goodbye? To this memory haunting you?"_

The she-wolf never could have said goodbye; memories of her family haunting her during the day, nightmarish visions of them dying visiting her at night.

 

- Perhaps you are right, Lady Sansa.  Perhaps you are, said the silver-haired woman, almost whispering.”

 

 _Valar dohaeris_ , thought Sansa Stark. _I will serve my countrymen, my family and my house, the Targaryen monarchs too, for the sake of the former, and I will serve myself, too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I said I'd post within a month in January, and here we are at the end of April. I'm really sorry that I took so long but this story is so dear to me that every time I write a chapter it's like crafting a whole painting in itself. This chapter is almost 10k long but I hope you'll like it. There's no real Aegon/Sansa interaction in this one because I wanted to build up Sansa's character and the relationships she has before fully exploring her relationship with Aegon. But don't worry, in upcoming chapters they will interact a lot more.  
> Anyways, thank you for being here and still following this story, for leaving kudos and for commenting on this story. It means a great deal more than you know and I always love interacting with fellow writers and readers in the comments.  
> Right now, I am really busy with university as finals are approaching and I really need to focus on that, even though it's hard between writing this story and watching season 8 of Game of Thrones. I seriously hope they don't kill Sansa (obviously my favourite character, it goes without mention at this point), Jaime, Brienne or Tyrion. I'm rooting for them all! I think Jaime Lannister is my second favourite character after Sansa in GoT. What are you guys' favourite characters in the show?  
> Anyways, that means I probably won't upload chapter V until June. I really hope you'll be sticking around until then! I might write chapter V from Aegon's perspective even though I don't know yet - the main perspective will be Sansa's but I really want to incorporate other characters' POVs, such as Aegon obvs, Margaery or maybe some members of the Martell family.
> 
> But all in all, thank you for reading and see you on the next one!
> 
> Lola


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